


Through victory, my chains are broken

by Serane



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Healing, Handholding, Intergalactic roadtrip, Maybe - Freeform, Movie: Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, No idea where this is going, THIS IS A FIX-IT, The Force Ships It, What-If, You Need A Teacher, rey went to search for the sith way finder alone?, reylo through and through, send help, what if she was attacked?, what would Kylo do?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 54,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22615330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serane/pseuds/Serane
Summary: Somehow, it never happens when they are not alone.As if the Force itself wanted this to be private, their connection sacred and too intimate for any witnesses.So when he sits in a First Order meeting with his generals, and she suddenly appears right in the middle of the long black table, he is startled enough to involuntarily flinch in his chair.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 392
Kudos: 333





	1. Chapter 1

Somehow, it never happens when they are not alone.

As if the Force itself wanted this to be private, their connection sacred and too intimate for any witnesses. There was only ever one seeing them together, another force user, one he doesn't wish to remember.

So when he sits in a First Order meeting with his generals, and she suddenly appears right in the middle of the long black table, he is startled enough to involuntarily flinch in his chair.

All eyes turn to him, unaccustomed to anything but his steadfast boredom or violent outbreaks at their meetings.

Hux, who was droning on and on about a report of their troops at the outer rim, clacks his mouth shut and stares at him mystified. He is glad for his masks because he can feel his expression become unguarded, deeply surprised and the skin of his neck prickling unpleasantly.

He hasn't seen her in while. Rey is half lying on the table, long legs stretched out in front of her, one bony ellbow supporting her upper body. She is clenching her stomach with her right arm, left one aiming a blaster unsteadily. He suppresses the urge to duck as his every instinct dictates, but she is aiming too high for him anyway, at someone with higher ground then her, her face snarling and her breath puffing out in short, laboured huffs.

_Rey. What is going on?_

She looks startled then, as if she hadn't even realized that their connection had opened, her mind too focused on what is going on to keep him out from her side of the bond. He hasn't seen her in a while, not in person - no no no not thinking about that now - and neither in a vision sent by the Force. She had resolutely shut down the connection from her side, and if she felt him fishing for an opening now and then in the weeks _after_ , it only solidified her resolve in keeping him out, building the walls higher and stronger every time he tried.

So she didn't call for him. Not consciously at least.

But he knows she heard his question in her head because she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and growls at him through clenched teeth.

**GO AWAY.**

He wishes he could speak to her, but he can't with all eyes on him. They don't seem to see the panting woman on the table.

Instead he focuses on her, greedily drinking in the sight, comparing it to the last image he had of her in his mind. The bond is vibrating violently, putting his teeth on edge.

_Tell me where you are. What is going on?_

But before she can answer, she flinches violently and groans, her head thrown back and blood blooms at her thigh, coloring the suddenly torn material of her leggings in one of the two colors of the Sith.

She is under attack. Someone is still shooting at her. She is...-

„Supreme Leader...“

He stands up, no longer able to sit, and that shuts the question directed at him up efficiently.

_Rey. Tell me where you are. Now._

He is used to being obeyed now. She never obeyed him.

Her hand, not her dominant one, is shaking as she is shooting her blaster and he can't imagine that she is able to aim properly this way. Sweat is slicking some of the wispy curls that always escape her buns to her head, but there is a storm where she is that is clawing at her clothings, making her squint through her pain at her unseen attackers. Her right arm is still clenching her middle and that's when he realizes that the hit to her leg was neither the first nor the most severe one.

He grows hot and cold under his collar, panic overriding years of training, the Force whirling dark inside him, all semblence of balance lost as waves start crashing over him.

_Who is shooting at you?_

As soon as the question burst free, he wants to take it back. Shame licks up his spine, makes the tips of his ears burn uncomfortably. Who else is shooting at her than his own men?

She ignores him, and keeps shooting at the unseen assailant instead. It looks more desperate than calculated, jerky movements in different directions, so there seem to be more than one attacker. He feels their connection flickering, whether it's her trying to shut him out or the Force severing it at the most inopportune moment, he can't tell. He wants to tell her to not waste engery on squeezing him out, but her groan of pain is cut off and now he's breaking into a real sweat, fearing there might be a third option at fault for their failing connection.

„Sir...“

He slams his fists into the table, with enough force to rattle the datapads lying on it.

His generals shut up, silently staring at him. They fear him and his unpredictable nature, but when he ushers his next command, he senses their confusion overriding their fear.

„Tell me where we are fighting right now.“

Rey is back, panting heavily, and he thinks he can smell the sour sweat and dirt clinging to her, and most of all, the coppery tang of her blood spreading much to quickly, filling the stale air in the room enough for him to almost choke.

„Sir... ?“

He doesn't even have to concentrate to squeeze the air out of the man who didn't answer quickly enough and throw him into of the corners on the far side of the room. It's just a flicker in his mind, half conscious, an impluse sparking off of too frayed nerve endings, and the man lands with a dull thud. Blessed silence.

One of his generals starts speaking quickly. „Supreme Leader, we have two major battlefronts in the outer rim, with 4 squadrons...“

She is lying on the ground somewhere, in the dirt, not in a ship. There is wind in her hair and sun in her face, harsh and unforgiving, highlighting how pale her lips are becoming.

„No. Tell me where we are fighting on the ground.“

„On the ground Sir...? We don't have any major campaigns on the ground right now, apart from smaller scuffles, the two major battle lines....“

In an endless galaxy, with his reach strong and vast, how can he find her? How can he find her in time?

_Rey. Listen to me. You have to heal yourself. You have to focus on at least closing your wounds so you don't lose any more blood._

She grits through her teeth, her left arm holding the blaster now shaking violently.

**Don't you think I am already doing that?**

He can feel it in their bond, her desperate focus, her light pouring ouf of her palm, weak and unsteady, criminally unpractised and while it doesn't close the wound, it keeps it from gushing out all of her life force within seconds.

_Where is the rest of your precious resistance? Why is noone covering you?_

Angry tears spring to her eyes, and he feels her fury and pain as keenly as it was his own as she is resolutely refusing to answer. Of course. Forever picking the wrong words.

_Please Rey, tell me where you are._

Someone is still shooting at her and she is shuffling further back on the table, her breath laboured, her lips as pale as her desert bleached clothes. A decision is made in splitseconds.

„I want all troops to stand down. Now.“

His voice is ringing out, contorted by the modulator and louder than needed, loud even to his own ears.

„Supreme Leader, what is the meaning of this?“ Hux springs to his feet now, sensing his turmoil, trying to get a foothold into the situation, to assert himself and sow dissent.

„All troops. I want everyone to stand down this very second. Do not make me repeat myself.“

„But Supreme Leader, if we're to stand down now, the losses at the outer rim will be enourmous...“

The woman can't finish her question, her hands flying to her throat gasping for air.

Rey has almost reached the middle of the table until she suddenly stops, apparently having hit an obstacle in her world. She tries to pull herself up to gain an advantage in aiming, but once her hand leaves her stomach to straighten herself, blood is rushing freely to the surface, dripping onto the table with frightening speed.

All his generals in the room gasp and push back from the table, then look at him with panic in their eyes, thinking he himself conjured the expanding pool of blood out of thin air.

The Force is alien to them, something dark and sacred and to be feared.

Another day, another time, he would have relished this fear, would have used their belief of this dark magick and furthered it to solidify his command, but now, it's all worthless.

One of his older generals gets up so quickly that his chair tips over behind him and rushes to the command consoles, finally giving the blessed signal to cease all fire.

He can only pray it's quick enough when Rey suddenly jerks, head thrown back and another dark red bloom appears at her right shoulder.

The bond winks off.

She is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this exact moment, he understands that he'd give her anything, all of him, every atom of his being, every breath he has and if that is what is needed, he won't hesitate.

He stares numbly at the now empty spot where Rey was lying a second ago, all traces of her gone except for the pool of blood that starts slowly dripping off the edge of the table.

„Out. Now.“

The room clears fast, his head spinning from the the warring relief and confusion and fear in the generals fleeing the scene. He shuts them all out.

His traitorous heart is hammering against his ribcage, so out of balance.

This can't be happening.

For months, he longed to see her again, to talk to her again, maybe convince her finally to see reason at last.

He consciously tries to calm his harsh breathing, to find equilibrium in the darkness of the Force, to hone the helpness rage into a weapon like he always does. It always works, but it fails him now. Instead of giving him focus, the darkness and rage are pulling him under in waves, chaos exploding beneath his skin and how can he rule an entire fucking galaxy if he can't find her? What good is all this power if she dies, alone, bleeding out somewhere, nowhere, in the dirt.

The mask is cutting off his air, and he scrambles to take it off, his gloves slipping on the mechanism and when they finally find the release buttons and he hurls it across the room, and it does nothing, absolute nothing to quell the terror inside him.

He tries to feel for her, through the bond, but instead of the wall he encountered again and again, the bond is a numb and lifeless thing inside him. He absolutely, totally, does not to think back at how it felt when Han Solo died - died? You _killed_ him, you _killed_ your own father...-, resolutely shoving the sad, kind eyes of a dying man from his throughts and staring at the copper puddle on the table instead. It almost makes him retch and for a moment, he fears that he might.

There is no plan, no sense in this situation, even though he should have seen it coming and wasn't it inevitable all along? He come up with something, anything, but all he feels is despair and bitterness... and regret.

It's your fault, your _fault_ , _yourfault_...-

Some instinct, or the Force, or the need to be close to her in any form possible draw him to her blood, and he rips his gloves off his hands and touches the still warm liquid. Instantly, he feels a thrum in the bond, she is not dead, not _dead_ , _notdead_...-

Something is beckoning him, and he feels the pull, knows to trust his instincts even when they make no sense and then he touches the liquid to his lips, all instinct now, he is there, THERE, the connection is there and he is kneeling in the dirt, over her still form.

Steps shuffle behind them drawing nearer and all he can do is shield her small body with his own broader one. Whether they come to kill or arrest or help, he doesn't know, and doesn't care, so he just throws his arm behind him and lets loose.

The tide rising up inside breaks finally free, a valve for his utter uselessness and anger. Wave after wave of pure darkness run through his hand, guided into a pinpoint and hitting into a group of three, no four assailants.

The dark Force is singing its familiar, dissonant tune, egging him on, accepting him, accepting his chaos like a gift and transforming it into something else, something twisted and deadly.

And then it ends and he turns back to see them, ripped bodies of his own men, shredded First Order armour and blood, so much blood. It was artless and primitive, and he hardly feels relief or anything because now he can finally focus on her. A quick scan through the Force, now humming in a slightly lower, somewhat satisfied frequency, reveals that noone else present. Around them, there are only the bodies of his own men he just killed and then, for miles, nothing else.

They are in some sort of rocky terrain, at the edge of a cliff, the wind picking up and ripping at his cowl, belying the stillness of the body on the ground beneath him. He is not sure she is still breathing, her face deathly pale and her clothes almost soaked through with her blood. Her body, her powerful body that feels so small when he gathers her to him, her collarbones sticking out more sharply than he remembers, her ripcage pressing starkly against her soiled tunic. He rips the cloth from his shoulders and presses a shred to her wounds, first her shoulder, then her stomach, trying to stem the flow, and failing.

Panic rises again like acid in his throat, almost choking him again, and isn't that the irony? What can he do? He has nothing with him, no bacta, no inks or materials for dark healing spells and has no sense of how long the Force deigns to allow their connection this time. There is only one option left for him, a scary one, one that he shies away from instinctively.

He cradles her body to his, pressing his cheek against her hair and breathes in deeply. Blood, dirt, unwashed hair, and beneath it all, Rey, sand, dry, sunshine, metal oil and warm. There is a decision to be made here, it's made in a heartbeat, but if he's honest to himself, there was never any choice. He might not like it, but there is no other option.

A calming, shuddering breath. Her scent fills his lungs. He is slowly closing his eyes and opening himself to the Force.

To say there is conflict in him is an understatement. He has entered this meditative state countless times, to find balance, to sink deeper into the darkness, to find resolve and guidance from the seductive voices shepparding him down a long winding path.

Serving the Force is never easy. He should know, he tried both paths.

There needs to be a balance, an inner resolve to persue one of them and achieve greatness.

Right now, he feels horribly unbalanced, the dark hissing at him instead, reminding him, clawing at his insides, old mantras whirling through his head, over and over, the truth, the one truth, overshadowing all old truths he believed in a lifetime ago.

_Peace is a lie, there is only passion._

But he must find peace now for what he wants to accomplish.

He very rarely thinks back at this other time, an island, filled with others his age, so young and trusting and eager to learn. He has long banished all thoughts of the young boy then, the one who looked up to his master, his uncle, always a bit starstruck, hungry for praise, desperate to be seen.

There is no peace to be found in the memories, only bitterness that is startling painful still after all these years. He grits his teeth, trying to push through it, trying to remember the lessons that seemed so boring and inconsequential at that time.

All he wanted to learn was how to fight, not meditate.

He wanted to find an outlet for his whirlwind emotions, a chanel of how to make sense of his inner chaos.

He wanted to learn how to focus his power, to hone it into a weapon.

The more he wanted, the more he hungered, he more his master insisted on him balancing. Meditating.

On finding his equilibium. His … serenity.

He watched the others training with staffs while he was sidelined on a rock, itching to join them, but not allowed. There was a voice in his head and it grew louder, more insistant, every day, telling him about potential and strength and secrets and freedom.

_Through passion, I gain strength._

_Through strength, I gain power._

_Through power, I gain victory._

When he finally left the island, it felt like victory. Like endless doors opening, endless potential, endless power.

The world at his fingertips.

Now his hands feel slick with her blood.

There is no victory. He takes another deep breath and tries to dive deeper, pushing it all aside. He doesn't really need to remember the lessons on how to do it. He knows the Force well enough now, knows how to listen to his instincts.

He sends a silent prayer to the Force, begging that it is not too late, pleading that he is not too inept, too spoilt and rotten to the core to perfom the task at hand. He prays that there is enough left of the once innocent boy back then worthy to gift it to her.

His hand moves over her belly, and then he begins.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

_There is no death, there is the Force._

He was never, _ever_ , a Jedi.

Their words feel foreign in his mouth. His mind is filled with screeches of the darkness, clawing at his insides, hooking into his brain and his thoughts, ripping at him and dragging his focus elsewhere.

**Rage my child, rage... Lose yourself in the darkness and become stronger. This is your chance at true freedom.**

He is lost in a whirlwind, looking for a guiding beacon as he keeps repeating the words of the Jedi, the vows, over and over to block out the other voices screaming at him.

They feel like ash in his mouth, dead and forgotten. He knows in his heart that they never gave him anything. Any sense of security or belonging, never spoke to him, never felt true to him. All he ever was, was chaos and death. Turmoil and passion. From the beginning, he was never good enough for this.

He feels the darkness laughing at him, at his pitiful attempt at fixing what he broke in the first place.

Back on the island, he recalls the humiliation when all other students mastered this particular skill long before him. Everyone learned it faster than he did, even the ones with vastly less potential than him. The burn of embarassment when he fails over and over, the kind, but concerned eyes of his master ordering him to try again and again, in vain. After he left the island, he never tried another attempt.

Why does it still hurt? He left it behind him a long time ago. And yet, the pain of this memory is stoking the chaos, battering at his resolve, demanding him to just give up and give in, to rage, to power, to oblivion.

He opens his eyes and stares down at the woman in his lap, the one who had once offered him a way out, first with words, so kind and trusting and a name, a now forbidden one.

Then a second time, silently with her back to him, loyal and fierce, attacking his attackers with the vicousness of a Sith until there was only her and him.

She can't die. He will not let her.

He stares at her face, her beautiful, all too still face and gathers his resolve once more to start again.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

It's a ...- lie.

Out there, when it comes to her, is both, endless emotion, but also peace.

An evening on another island, a glove taken off, a fire warming two freezing bodies, a hand touching his, effectively silencing his every thought and focusing his entire universe into his fingertips. There was peace in this moment, true peace in his overfull heart and whirling throughts, and even if it was – and is – a lie, precisely the exact opposite of „no emotion“, he lets the true part ring out of this memory and guide him.

He gathers her closer, gathers his pitiful resolve and starts pouring out this peace into her.

At first, it feels clumsy, unpractised and very uncontrolled. So different than the easy command of the Force channeled through the darkness, honed by years of practice, second nature by now. He knows he's doing it all wrong, not careful and elegantly precise as he's seen others do this. It should be delicate work to put a body back together, but he was only ever good for butchering, his too big hands too blunt for the finer things in life. Not worthy.

Her brows suddenly furrow and a low groan passes her lips. He's hurting her, it's all he ever does. The truth tastes bitter in his mouth, despair threathening to pull him out of his focus. He can't fail her now, but he doesn't know how to correct blood vessels and nerve endings and has never learned how to knit muscle and organs together, so all he can do is grab onto this flickering light and begging the Force to direct it for him. He's also begging, praying, that the connection holds and not throw him back onto his ship before he can finish this.

It's humbling.

He hasn't outright begged for anything for a very, very long time.

But the Force must be benevolent today, if not for his sake, then apparently for hers. Whatever Force he can gather, it's pouring out more steadily now, without him needing to coax it to the surface, but flowing freely from him to her. He is sweating, breathing harshly and the hand that is hovering over her starts to shake. He looks down and sees the wound slowly close, slowly scab over, ugly torn flesh, bright red, and knows that if she survives this, she will carry the mark for the reminder of her life with her.

Healing shouldn't leave a mark. A mark his men, at his command, put onto her. A mark that shows how he failed her.

But there is no time to regret, no time to mourn her disgraced body and he hurries to switch to her shoulder, to repeat the process, to give her more of him and in this exact moment, he understands that he'd give her anything, all of him, every atom of his being, every breath he has and if that is what is needed, he won't hesitate.

He feels the Force swell inside him, effectively silencing the turmoil and pours what is left of the boy, what is left of his own rotten heart into her.

_There is no death, there is the Force._

When the wound at her shoulder starts to finally scab over, he senses her breath more steadily in her bony ribcage. It sounds laboured, a wet wheeze, but the girl in his arms was never anything but resilient. His own breath is harsh and he feels lightheaded, the sun too bright, the coppery tang too strong and the strain in his muscles ever increasing to a jerky shiver. Before he can feel relief though, the frayed ends of his nerves start to tingle, and their the connection is closing down.

Not now- No, no, no...

_NO!_

He needs to work on her leg first before the connection breaks off, furious that the Force might disconnect them now before they are done, before he had a chance to close all her wounds at least. It's a cruel joke, to give him hope and snatch it away again, and the rage, the all too familiar feeling is bubbling back to the surface, always so eager to be summoned, overpowering what flickering light he cradled close and sent to her. It's as if his anger is accelerating the process of disintegrating their tenuous connection, dragging him back lightyears and systems away to where his body is right now, and he can do nothing but howl at the unfairness of it all.

Before he's gone completely, he rips off what is left of his cowl and draps it gently over her, glancing around to see if he can summon any help at all for her. But there is nothing. No ship, nothing but the vast, dead emptiness of the rocky terrain in front of them, bodies around them, and a punishing wind shaping up to a storm.

Then.. the splitsecond before he's thrown back on his ship, he sees it.

Mines at the horizon.

Cortosis mines.

Relief is flooding him and he thanks the Force as humbly as he can.

He knows where she is.

Rey is on Bal'demnic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, force healing. Our Benny did good, no? ;)
> 
> Apparently, there is something like dark Force healing, but not sure if this would work on other people. So I borrowed lore that the dark Force healing needs supplies and stuff from another fandom, oops. Sorrynotsorry dear Star Wars experts.
> 
> Originally, I wanted to end here, as this was the scene that just didn't leave my throughts and demanded itself to be written.  
> But let's see, maybe the Muse TM is as gratious and benevolent as the Force here. (both of them being unpredicable, ruthless mistresses, let me tell you......)
> 
> Also, I must have _tried_ to post this, and format, and format again, for like 5 times now. And it still does not show up as updated? Argh. Archive you silly thing, you drive my crazy!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He realized then, that he wanted her, wanted to teach her, wanted to mold her, wanted to give her anything and take everything in return.
> 
> In the end, when she slashed out with enough strength borrowed from the darkness to mark him, he was stunned.
> 
> And proud.
> 
> He kept the scar, a reminder of her mastering her very first lesson.

He's back in the conference room, panting, kneeling besides the long table.

Covered in her blood, drying on his bare hands, his neck, his face.

When he gets up, he needs a second for the room to right itself.

Lightheaded. Unstable. _Unbalanced_.

He needs to gather his wits and get to Bal'demnic as quick as possible, so he draws on the dark side, welcomes the pain and rage and fury like old friends, and feels the dark Force reconnecting and replenishing what he is missing, what gave to her.

The dark Force sings its dark tune in his vains.

It feels good. Elegant. Easy.

Like putting on his gloves, back on familiar terrain again.

He marches out of the conference room straight towards the hangar, and people scurry out of his way while he barks his orders to ready his ship. They are freightened of him, more so than usual.

What picture must he present to them now? Torn and bloody clothes, windswept hair and Rey's dark red warpaint on his face.

He welcomes their fear, letting it feed the fire in his veins.

_Through strength, I gain power.  
Through power, I gain victory._

He will find her.

He will find her in time.

    
    

He races through unchartered routes, dangerous shortcuts a reckless man showed him a very long time ago. This time, his ship is sleeker, smaller und technically far advanced. Still, he has a couple of close calls in a whirling nebula, the controls in a white knuckled grip without slowing down the ship. The trip should usually take a little over two hours, but Rey might not have that long. More men might come, or she could bleed out from the wound on her leg. The controls beep wildly, warning him. He's accelerating instead, aggressively.

It feels good to focus on something, satisfying to cut the flight to less than an hour.

He needs the outlet.

All his thoughts are consumed by her.

Why was she all alone?

What was she doing there, in the middle of nowhere?

Was she surprised, ambushed?

Why did she not defend herself properly? 

He knows how strong she is with the Force, just as strong as him, albeit untrained.

Rey must be in her early twenties now, too old basically to receive the proper education according to the original Jedi lore.

Maybe that's why Skywalker didn't teach her the basics?

Did she have to discover, to learn them all herself?

His distaste for anything Jedi only grows. Useless. So much potential, and it's all wasted.

If she'd only agree, if he could only make her see, he'd teach her everything, anything.

Everything she wanted to know, the power that lies in the dark side, the strength gained from shaping reality according to your wishes, bending nature and phsyics to your whim. The power she could achieve if she chaneled her passion into a weapon. He can sense the darkness lurking in her soul as clearly as he knows his own disposition towards it.

He thinks of a snowy night, a dark forrest, the earth beneath his feet groaning in protest and shaking in pain.

He thinks of the beautiful dissonance of lightsabers crossing, just as the weapons are meant to be utilized.

The wild animal of a girl .. woman...-? chaneling her own fear and desperation into attack after attack.

She was so scared of him, and furious, of course she was, but she also stood proud and tall in front of him, meeting him strike for strike.

It was raw and pure and dark and he was in awe.

She didn't know at that time, but he felt the pull, he felt the dark Force singing in her veins like it sang to him, lending her the strength to parry his at first rather playful stabs to test her.

With every clumsy swing of her saber, and really, it was HIS to begin with, he could feel how her anger and despair mirrored his own, made the Force vibrate between them in a new frequency, connecting them to a dying planet and the eternal stars above. 

It was breathtaking.

He realized then, that he wanted her, wanted to teach her, wanted to mold her, wanted to give her anything and take everything in return.

In the end, when she slashed out with enough strength borrowed from the darkness to mark him, he was stunned.

And proud.

He kept the scar, a reminder of her mastering her very first lesson.

But then, although he was loath to admit it, but there were _some_ useful lessons on the other side of the Force.

Healing being the prime one.

When he healed her, it felt... strange. Like training a muscle that was long neglected and was now sore from the effort. It's been a long, very long time since he tapped in _this_ side of the Force. His armour, his abilities and his knights, as well as his station where bacta tanks were readily availble to him at all times, had made it all unnecessary. He has always been reckless with his body – and where did that reckless streak come from...- because he knows how to chanel physical pain into dark Force to amplify his strength, a useful tool in getting what he wanted. The consequences for him were usually minimal and easy to manage. 

But she really needs to learn how to heal herself. Every tool for survival, her survival specifically, is a useful tool. He will teach her this as best as he can, suspecting that she will be more capable at this than him quickly.

And while he doesn't regret it – could never regret healing her – it still feels ... _wrong_ , as if he betrayed his allegiance to the dark side, as if he betrayed the choice to kill a boy and become a man, another man.

It felt so strange, bizarre even, how the Force bent readily to his will while he tapped into the other side. How it felt like... acceptance in a way.

The aftershocks are still zigging through his veins, still there after pulling strength back from the familiar darkness.

Hopefully he doesn't have to repeat this too often, as the uneasy feeling is just unsettling. No, he decides, Rey really needs to do this on her own. He'll make this a priority.

His nerves still prickle.

He needs to meditate, badly, but there is no time now.

Bal' Demnic comes into view, finally, but the planets surface is covered in dark clouds now, big storms darkening the atmosphere.

It doesn't matter, as when he breaks through, he punches in the coordinates to the mines to get closer to her location and flies dangerously low to search for the rocky formation he saw in their bond. Closer to the mines, the is completely one and the former wind has developed into a full dry thunderstorm.

Rey is out there, alone and unprotected.

One of the instruments in his cockpits beeps an alert, an unmarked spaceship parked to the west of his position.

He whips his shuttle around, racing west, beyond a small mountain range and freezes. It's the Falcon, hidden from plain sight on a plateau behind some larger rocks. Rey must be close, he can now feel her, very faintly, through their bond.

He scans the rocks below him, and finally spots the bodies and bloodsplatters of the fallen troopers on a ledge.

It's a narrow fit, but he manages to land his ship on the very edge and jumps out, paying the dead no mind, running towards the rocks where something lies motionless on the side, bundled in his cowl whipping violently in the storm, almost ripping free.

It's Rey, thank the Force.

His knees almost buckle in relief. He has found her.

He kneels down besides her, his hands grabbing her leg at once, trying to coax the healing powers to the surface and direct them to her, but it's all a mess.

Rocks are raining down around them, smaller pebbles and larger chunks rolling down from a above. It stings in his eyes, whipping his own hair around, making it hard for him to see.

There is no peace achieved here, his focus is shattered, their surroundings growing more threatening by the minute. Thunder starts to roll more insistantly in the distance.

He has to get Rey out of here, and into a Bacta tank as soon as possible.

Carefully craddling her to his chest, he stands up, walking back to his ship mindful not to jostle her too much.

It reminds him of the first time he had her in his arms, her mind so untrained and open to him, a mere flick of his thought, and she was frozen, blaster aimed uselessly to the floor.

He looks down at her, her breathing laboured, but her heart beating strongly in her bony ribcage beneath his bare hands.

She was an open book back then, her mind innocent and so unprotected, her thoughts all over the place.

So unlike now when she is doing all she can to lock him out.

He wonders... is her mind open to him now?

If he learned the location to the Resistance now, everything could be over. All the fighting, the losses, the entire war, finished by the end of the day. It would free them of everything that is keeping them apart, both her and him and make way for the future at last.

He stops, reaching out with the Force. He feels through her foggy unconsciousness, feels that her usual walls towards him are all down, and just as he is stepping over them, lightning strikes above them, exploding rocks in all directions. He jumps back with supernatural grace, bowing over Reys body to shield it as best as possible. A smaller rock hits the back of his head, making him see stars for a minute before he can recover and quickly to throw out the Force a second before a larger one could hit him across the back. Rey doesn't wake up through the jostling, but groans softly in his arms.

But before he can check if she is ok, a loud rumble rips his gaze from her just in time to see a barrage of large rocks hitting his ship with a bang, splittering glas and screeching metal.

No.

No no no no nonononono...-

Too late.

All he can do is watch in stunned horror as the wreck of his ship slowly tips over the edge, pummls down and crashs down into a huge ball of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consent is sexy, consent is key. Never try to enter a woman's mind (or anything) without her explicit consent. The Force TM seems to agree. 
> 
> Also, I am not a native speaker, so any errors/typos/etc you find, feel free to yell at me in the comments! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren has A Day TM. And it's about to get worse.

**Use your fear. Let it crystallize into anger. Turn that anger into power.**

Back then, it was a harsh lesson at the time, accopanied by a ton of humiliation and physical pain. Snoke called it... his soft heart. It took a while to learn. But he was an eager apprentice, driven and ambitious.

What he learned proved to be incredibly valuable many times over, and it proves to be helpful right now as well.

He stands rooted to the spot, uncomprending of what just happened. Not only did he break off an important war council with his generals, certainly furthering some of their secret intentions for a coup, sent potentially several of their most important ships into oblivion, costing them time, money, resources at one of their most crucial battle lines right now, … _no_ , he also almost lost Rey to utterly insignificant opponents, had to completely deplete himself of the Force – with the wrong side no less-, severely unbalance himself and now he was stuck on this Force forsaken junkyard of a planet without any means to communicate back to his fleet.

If Rey wasn't a dead weight in his arms, nothing in close proximity would be safe from him right now.

He closes his eyes and counts slowly back from 10.

At 4, Rey stirs.

He sighs.

There's only one option left.

By the time he reaches the Falcon, he's ready to murder someone. Anyone really. Rey's leg wound reopened during his climb and he just can't find the equilibrium to perform that stupid little Jedi trick again.

Before entering the ship, he feels out for any passangers on board, but is endlessly relieved to find the ship deserted inside.

Small blessings.

He uses the Force to unlock the boarding ramp and has to swallow when the digits flash over the outfashioned old screen.

After all these years, the code is still his birthday.

Inside, not much has changed. The smell is still the same. Dusty old boxes cramped into the nooks and crannies. The one flickering light in the main corridor noone bothered to fix. Creeky floor planks hiding secret compartments for smuggling contraband.

The storm howls outside the ship, echoing the chaos inside him. The outer metal shell creeks worryingly.

Back in the day, the YT-1300 freighter was already an oldfashioned model, meant to attract as little attention as possible.

Now, the old cargo ship is nothing more than a pile of junk.

He can't think of another place he'd be less inclined to be at right this moment.

The Falcon never had a med bay, but when he passes his old room on the way to the cockpit, he sees that it was cleared out and crammed full with medical supplies instead. He gently places Ray on his old cot and if that doesn't make him feel all kinds of different things all rolled into one uncomfortable tangle inside...

A quick check confirms that there is no bacta tank – too expensive? - but there seems to be at least some patches and bandages.

He hurries to strap Rey to the bed securely and then rushes to the cockpit to leave this force forsaken planet as quickly as possible. He'd contact the base to prepare meds for their arrival through his personal codes when they are airborne, but right now, they need to leave before the storms get too bad for lift off.

He can't wait to get out of this ship again.

He can't wait to scrap it.

Then he reaches the cockpit and his stomach performs an almost painful flip.

There are ghosts here, he can feel them behind the thin veneer of reality, feel it in the Force and he has to close his eyes and swollow, once, twice... and yet his feet refuse to move.

Fingers dance over his face, over his scarred cheek, sad eyes peering at him, full of disappointment...-

The darkness howls inside of him, eager to reclaim him after his little trip to the other side, but a door has been pushed open and all he feels inside is painful doubt. Years he walked down his path, led by powerful allies, so sure of his destiny, so certain in his persuit of power. But he remembers now, the warm flow of the Force gently streaming through him, guided by benevolent intent, the quiet and calm that brings, for a little while, blessed silence to his conflict.

It's hard to shake it.

But he must.

It's conflict that held him back.

It's conviction that will ensure success.

He will do whatever he must to bring Rey back to health and then once she is recovered, he will bring her to reason, make her see what she could become, what he could make her.

He shakes his doubts off, his ghosts off, shakes the feeling of a warm hand from his cheek.

He sits down in the copilot's seat – not the other one ...- and lifts off the Falcon, more muscle memory than conscious thought and pushes expertly through the storm to get into space as quickly as possible.

Then he puts the Falcon onto autopilot, to be able to go back to Rey and tend to her.

It's at least an hour before he needs to contact command to announce them with his private signature.

Rey hasn't woken up through their rocky lift off, and lies motionless on his old cot.

He swollows at what he has to do next, and the tips of his ears start to burn uncomfortably again.

It's the reason why he keeps his hair so long, why he keeps wearing a mask. His skin has always been too light, too traitorous to betray his emotions to others.

He gathers some supplies from the hodge-podge of medical stock he finds, stolen things from intercepted transporters, out of date ointments, second hand instruments.

He should feel proud to have proof how much the resistance is struggling.

All he feels is empty and tired.

He drags his cowl from Rey's slight form and sighs. Lying unconscious in front of him, he can see that she lost significant weight. Girlish softness gave way to skin and muscles. Rey was strong when they met, and she still is. But the way her body is stretched out in front of him, she's more warrior than woman. Something like regret, some fleeting emotion too hard to pinpoint rushes through him, but he pushes it away.

He slowly cuts the soiled leggings and tunic from her body, softening the dried patches of blood with rubbing alcohol he found in one of the cabinets where they stick to her scabs, careful not to reopen her wounds.

The rags he throws on the floor, until she is lying in front him, naked except for her breastbindings and underwear. Both are just as soaked through with her sweat and blood, but he can't bring himself to remove them as well.

It's not only his ears that burn uncomfortable now. His entire face is on fire.

He imagined it a 1000 times, touching her, learning her, following the lines of her body, discovering its secrets.

But not like this. This ist not a lover's touch, it is the gentle methodic touch of a caretaker.

She had lost a lot of blood. Her ashy, clammy skin, the bags under her eyes, her blue lips.

He starts at her leg, relieved to find that the shot was only a graze and started to scab over on its own, then proceeds to wipe the worst of the blood away with some anti-bac wipes before placing some bacta patches – he winces seeing how long they are out of date – over her most urgent injuries.

Satisfied that she is strapped in securely and there is nothing more he could do for her now, he reaches to cover her with the sheet, but then decides for his cowl instead as it's made of heavier material than can provide more warmth.

Back in the cockpit, he rubs a weary hand over his face, feeling bone tired by the events in the last hours. War is exhausting business, dealing with all the politics is ridiculously exhausting and he just wants this pointless, endless war to be over and done with. His little detour over the other side left him whoosy and unbalanced and he really, _really_ needs to meditate to find his center again before returning to his troops and facing his generals. He also _REALLY_ needs a shower.

The cockpit of the Falcon is still hosting its ghosts.

It does nothing to improve his mood.

He slumps back into the co-pilots seat and starts up the communication panels to contact his ship when he suddenly remembers.

The Falcon, oldfashioned pile of junkshit as it is, logs all itenaries into the communication subpanels.

They would not have had to reasons to erase them, would they?

It was worth a shot.

He flips through the subpanels, until he finds the itenary log, filled with over 60 entries.

He snorts. Decades ago, the green blocky font on black screen was already oldfashioned. Coordinates, no maps or tracing system.

Noone bothered to upgrade over the years.

 _Pathetic_.

He types in the command to open the last destinations, but instead of opening, the command cursor blinks and blinks.

Annoyed, he gives the screen a knock on the side like he saw the former pilot do from time to time, but that just melts the cursor into green lines on the screen.

He curses and hits it again, out of frustration maybe a bit harder than before.

Maybe a bit too hard.

The screen goes dark and a second later, sparks erupt over the cockpit of the Falcon.

**WARNING. ALL SYSTEMS DOWN.**

And with that, followed by several overlaying beeps, they are jossled out of hyperspeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh Ben, when will you learn? *Eyeroll*  
> I know I'm horrible, come yell at me in the comments.
> 
> And YES, it's time for Rey to finally wake up ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wide, male, naked chest is looming over her. Dusty nipples right on eye level.
> 
> Her stomach sinks.
> 
> Her eyes travel up.
> 
> It's Kylo Ren.

Heat.

Sweat.

Cold.

Shiver.

„Rey... finally... are you ok?“

Waves pulling her back under, a gentle ebb and flow.

Heat.

So much heat.

Jakku?

So thirsty.

A cool hand on her forehead.

A glas of water at her lips.

Darkness.

A steady hum, a generator?

Heat, so hot, so hot.

Pain, everywhere.

A voice, far away, calling her.

Blessed blackness.

After a time, waking up, oh so slowly.

The gentle ebb and flow turning into the low background hum of a sonic shower. 

Bit by bit shifting back into focus, wild fever dreams dissolving back into reality. 

Rey was never a morning person. 

But growing up in the desert, all on your own, makes for a rather light sleeper. Never knowing when thieves could come, or wild beasts, or  _ men _ ... or the next sandstorm. Besides, hunting for parts was easiest when it was still relatively cool outside. 

Sleeping in has never been a luxury she could affort before she met her new friends. Even then, days with the resistance where usually too busy to sleep any longer than strictly necessary. 

The only time she could ever relax enough to wake up slowly was on board of the the Falcon, its gentle hum and beeps and creak a lullaby at night, a safe haven in the morning. 

Slowly, painfully slowly regaining consciousness now, the world shifts back into focus, enough to catalogue some base facts.

  1. She is definately on board the Falcon. She could identify that specific mechanical background cacophony anywhere.

  2. She hurts all over. Badly. Very very badly. There seems to be a fever too, to feel so weak and hot and drained.

  3. She is covered by a very soft, very wooly blanket of sorts. One that smelled rather nice compared to the rest of the room that reeked of alcohol (?) and blood (??) and something else.

  4. There was someone in the room with her, moving quietly.

  5. She is rather _naked_ beneath said wooly blanket.




That one is alarming enough that she draws a quick breath, her eyes shooting open. 

  1. A wide, male, naked chest is looming over her. Dusty nipples right on eye level. 




Her stomach sinks.

Her eyes travel up. 

It's Kylo Ren. 

And he looks like he just stepped out of a shower, peering down at her intensely. 

She sits up.

All she can do is stare at him uncomprehending, her mouth opening and closing several times. 

Then instinct kicks in, pure adrenaline is shooting through her, lighting her nerve endings on fire. 

He looks like he is about to say something, but before he gets the chance, she slaps him hard and fast across the face.

Well, she tries to slap hard at least. 

Pain explodes through her body, the entire right side of her torso is on fire and all she can do it curl up on herself, wimpering. 

What the Force?

She glares up at him again, dragging the dark blanket up to her chin as best as she can to cover herself, with her right arm hanging down limply and useless at her side.

He looks... shocked, keeping his face turned for a minute. A nice red imprint of her hand is forming on his otherwise pale skin. 

Five fingers on an unmarked cheek. 

Then he turns back at her, eyes hardening, rotating his jaw. 

„Rey. You woke up finally.“

It's too much.

Everything hurts.

Her vision becomes blurry, either due to the angry tears springing to her eyes and the general lightheadedness she feels, but she tries to scramble back on the small cot, to put as much distance between them as possible but hits the wall behind her much too soon. 

What is going on?

He springs to action, hands stretched out, trying to calm her? Immobilize her?

„Wait, wait, don't move, you'll open your wounds again...“

She lets go of her blanket and throws out her arm to shove him back with the Force, summoning from the endless well, but the Force reacts sluggishly, answering her call reluctantly.

He is quicker, grabbing her wrist and pushing it to the cot before she can do anything.

She's so weak, so hot...

His hand is cool against her wrist. 

She breaths in quickly, her lungs are burning, _SHE_ is burning and what is Kylo _REN_ of all people doing here, in the Falcon? How did he find her?  


The room starts to spin, and the edges of her vision begin to white out.

He's speaking quickly now, more urgent, making no sense, sylables bleeding into each other, and she doesn't hear over the roar in her ears, she has to get away, has to summon the strength to _fight_ him, _somehow,_ or has to _flee,_ get _away..._

He stops rambling, mouth closing into a harsh line. 

There, this cold look in his face, one cheek slashed, one glowing red. 

The hand banding her wrist lets go.

Fear grips her heart, and there is danger in the room and she needs to get away, away, _NOW..._

Kylo waves a hand in front of her face, a quick, surehanded gesture and she feels the Force vibrating, this familiar crackle between them, but her reflexes are dimmed, and before she can gather her strength and throw up a shield, she is being pulled under and sinks back into a deep, dark sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is rather short, but it felt like the right place to break it up.  
> There is a second part to Rey's POV, coming up in the next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now it's Rey turn to have A Day TM.

The next time Rey wakes up, it's with the suddenness of a lifetime accustomed to danger, instantly alert. Someone was in the room with her.

Her skin prickles with the unease of feeling watched, feeling like... prey.   


She suppresses the urge to look around and tries to even out her breathing to get her bearings...-

„You have been ambushed on Bel'demnic, hit three times by a bluster, and called for me. 

I came to pick you up and... treated... your wounds.“

Her eyes fly open. 

Kylo Ren is sitting across from her, a good distance between her cot and him. Arms crossed over a – she is very relieved to note-  _ dressed _ chest, he manages to look down his long nose at her, cold fury in his eyes, disapproving.

The Force crackles and hums between them, filling the room with snappish, nervous energy. 

It all rushes back to her in a dizzing blur.

The mission, the Stormtroopers, trying not to hurt them, but they surprised her, attacked her, then... nothing, darkness, heat, everything hurts, waking up back in the Falcon, seeing him here,  _ HIM _ , Kylo Ren in the  _ flesh _ after months of evading him, escaping his relentless HUNT and he still found her in the end, she is at his mercy and STARS she needs to get away and flee.

It's too much. Her body hurts, she feels weak and lightheaded and slightly feverish and where is the Force, she needs to gather her senses, her strength to get away and ...-

He sighs, hangs his head slightly and looks back at her, looking resigned, and …  _ tired _ ?

„We're in space.“

His words chill her to the bone, freezing her attempt to gather the Force and defend herself in its tracks.

„... in _fact_ , we're stranded in some Force forsaken solar system somewhere close to an outer rim hyperlane.“

He snaps his mouth shut, teeth clenching, and looks away. 

His anger bleeds into the Force between them, tinting it an ugly shade.

Rey shrinks back, thinking fast. Cold fear sneaks up her spine.

A moment ago, she was locked in a wild, colorful, chaotic fever dream. Gentle hands and harsh voices, the punishing heat of the Jakku desert, fire and guns, a kaleidoscope of impressions and emotions, all tangled up.

Back to reality, they are stuck, SHE is stuck, with him in space. How did they end up like this? Is she his prisoner? He had used the dark Force on her again, putting her out of consciousness, making her feel powerless and at his mercy. The thought of being so vulnerable fills her with panic. 

_ You know I can take whatever I want. _

She remembers those words from another time, uttered with quiet menance, while she was strapped to an interrogation device. The helplessness back then echoing the latent fear that has always been a constant companion during her long years alone in the dessert because she is from the  _ weaker _ sex.

Because of what that implies.

Because of what he implied.

„You put me under with the Force. Again! NEVER do that to me again, or you will regret it.“

She spits out the words, putting as much conviction as she can muster into them. She swallows the acid taste of cold fear down and glares at him instead.

He looks evenly at her, utterly unphased, radiating cold menance.

„You were … agitated, and almost reopened your wounds. It was the most practical solution.“

„NEVER do that to me again, or I swear I will KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP!“

She roars, sitting up, fists clenching, needing to be on equal footing with him. The blanket falls away and words tumble our of her mouth, too quick to process, familiar anger corsing through her veins, spurring her on.

„And what did you DO with me in the first place, did you touch me, you depraved, sick...-“

At that, he cuts in, a dangerous glint in his eyes now.

„Oh don't worry, your _honour_ is safe with me.“

His gaze travels very deliberately, very slowly down to her chest, lingering there to make a point.

She is covered only by her bindings and hurriedly covers herself with the blanket again, face flaming hot.

Then he looks back up and meets her gaze, looking utterly unimpressed. 

She reads the insult loud and clear, can almost hear it in her head as if he's whispering through the Force, as if to say  _ what is there to entice a man anyways, get over yourself _ . 

Mortified beyond measure, Rey can only stare at him, lost for words. 

Rey was never self conscious about her body, never had the time or patience to question herself in that way, always focused on survival. Grateful if her body held out during the difficult scavanger trips, proud that she was strong and capable, fearful whenever she got sick or hurt, always on her own, always relying only on herself.

Seeing herself as a  _ woman _ was a luxury she could never afford.

She met of course other women at the Niima outpost market, so polished with painted faces and curves and girly clothes, but it never felt like it related to her in any way.

So why does it hurt so bad then right now?

Her fear makes way to the familiar call of her anger, always beneath the surface, always so ready to break free whenever HE was involved. 

For a time, she had believed in him, had believed in her vision wholeheartedly and thought they had made some progress. The conflict in him was a constant buzz in the Force Bond connecting them, his lonliess, so openly shared, called out to her, echoing her own. The feeling of abandonment, so strong and familiar, grinding against her like Jakku sand. It was common ground. It opened a door.

So when the time came, she  _ trusted _ him, supported him, her heart elated when he spared her and killed his master instead. Everything seemed bright and possible, an end to this war, her friends saved, and she could bring him home, peace finally,  _ finally _ .

But instead, she turned out to be nothing but a pawn in his little game. He betrayed her, used her trust to grasp power himself, fully turning to the dark side, and then, on top of it all, had the gall to ask her to join him. 

Whenever the Force had connected them, those random fleeting moments, she had started to feel... seen. Unterstood. He slotted seemlessly into the ragged edges that the years of lonliness and longing ripped open in her. He was drawn to her light, she felt it, his own flickering so weakly... she thought there was something. As if he was drawn to  _ her _ . A true connection, even in the darkness. 

But he ended up twisting it into something selfish and ugly. 

He never really saw her. 

Or he did, and ended up not caring enough. 

And then, then he hunted her. Hunted them, ruthlessly, viciously. 

Planets were attacked, people suffered, and ...died.

Her mind turns to Luke for a moment and her anger crystallizes into something tangible, and there it was, at last, there was the Force and she used it to call for the light saber strapped to his belt. It rattled and moved to break free, but he was faster, again, and she felt his power pushing against her, his anger rising to meet hers.

The Force between them vibrated in a dissonant hum. 

„Leave that alone. This light saber belongs to me, it answers to _me_ alone _._ “

He looks darkly, intently at her, and there is a message in his eyes she can't decipher glinting beneath the stony facade. 

Disgust? Gloating? Triumph?

She tries again, focusing her energy, but he is prepared now and it is futile, his mental grip on the saber unbreakable. 

Instead, Rey switches to the items on the night table next to her, hurling them at him. 

He jumps up, his chair falling to the floor behind him, and he's evading a bowl and a glass and other paraphernalia with preternatural grace. They burst with a satisfying crash against the wall.

„Out, out, **OUT**! Leave me alone, you **monster**!“

And at that, he throws her a long, unidentifiable look and leaves. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey is a feral little sand gremlin.  
> And Kylo's to do list is getting out of control.

Rey is, in a word, magnificient. 

Such a diamond in the rough. 

He has never been sure exactly how strong the darkness inside her really was, just sensing the endless abyss of power, so similiar to his own. Her Force signature was so vibrant, her light being to blindingly bright at times, but Rey had more talent for the dark side of the Force in her little finger than all of his Knights of Ren combined.

And she readily, instinctively was able to call on her anger and shape it into something usable, something that can be harnessed as a weapon. 

Skywalker surely didn't teach her  _ that _ .

Leaving her room for the cockpit, he can still feel her spiking anger, her desperation, and her utter terror of being locked up with him. It always happens whenever they are in close physical proximity. Her walls are up, keeping him tightly out, but the Force itself had a specific frequency to it whenever they were close, curling around them, enveloping them in each others presence,  _ transmitting _ . Betraying their emotions, both hers and his. 

He would have to reign himself in more, something he neither likes nor was ever really good at. 

Rey has a way of going directly for the jugular, both in her heartfelt appeal to back in that elevator, throwing herself headfirst into the enemies hand. But she was also never mincing words in her accusations, or assumptions, or her insults. Years of loneliness and desolation brought her to this point. Years of survival had prepared her well for what is to come.

He hadn't meant to antagonize her, but his temper had snapped as it often did when it comes to her, and he lashed out, aiming to hurt _, hurt her back._ Aiming to put distance between them where she hit uncomfortably close home.

He is still angry. 

He is still in awe.

The constant dichotomy that was Rey's presence in his life since the very beginning. 

Rey will be his apprentice soon enough, and he will relish in teaching her, honing her skills, delighting in her talents. Shaping her path. 

Together, they'd be invincible.

Together...

Before things escalated further and she would end hurting herself in her anger, he decided to retreat. Now that she regained consciousness, it's high time to return to the cockpit, figuring out how to get off this forsaken solarsystem again. 

The lingering ghosts are still waiting for him. 

First he attempts to fix the communication panel, but it is futile. After removing the surface panels of the mainboards, the mishmash of cables and fuses and ... _ tape _ ?!... shows traces of burns, making oldfashioned device unusable.

He is resolutely blocking out the memories of long times past, when this or that would be broken and the pilot was tinkering away, not a care in the world. 

At least the backup generators had kicked in as soon as the system shut down, providing them with air and heat and light, but all other systems were down, causing the ship to just float still and unmovable in the eternal emptiness of outer space.

He found a couple of energy bars earlier in a bag in the corner, but they had been stale and rather tasteless and did little to chase his hunger away. He needs to hunt for a real meal in the supplies soon, something that required little skill to prepare. Rey needs to rebuild her strength after losing so much blood. 

But first he needs to fix the ship, to get the systems back up as soon as possible or at least open a chanel to send a distress message to his ship. 

Then food.

Then meditate.

Then see if Rey calmed down enough to talk to her.

But just as he's done unscrewing another part of the mainboard, there is a rumble and a clash down the hall and he calls out.

„Rey? Are you ok?“

Muffled grumbling and a thud answer him.

He springs up and rushes back to his room - _ no _ the med bay- standing a bit unsure in front of the closed door.

„Rey...?“

„Go away!“

There is shuffling and then he hears her wince. She is distressed, the Force screeching like fingernails on a blackboard. 

„I'm coming in.“ He announces himself.

He gives her a couple of seconds to ready herself and then slowly opens the door. 

Rey is lying on the floor in front of the cot, a tangle of legs – naked legs-, his cowl and very wild hair. She's clunching a scalpel and he shudders to see that one side is slightly rusty. The graze on her tigh that he wasn't able to heal had opened again and he watches the blood trickle down her leg before snapping his gaze back up. 

He hadn't realized before how high up her thigh they had gotten her. 

Rey stars at him with thunder in her eyes. 

„What part of 'go away' is so hard to understand?? The Go or the Away?“

She's holding the knife in her left arm, pointing it at him, the right awkwardly clunching his cowl to her. Her eyes glow with rightuous anger, her pointy chin stuck out. She'd fight him to death, or so she tries to project at least. 

In their Bond he can clearly feel how it takes her all the strength left to keep the impression up, to threaten him, lying on the floor with a rusty knife.

He could take it away from her with the Force, or even without, in an instant, and they both know it. 

He chooses to ignore it, giving her a puzzled look instead.

„What are you doing on the floor? Go back to bed and lie down.“

„Don't tell me what to do, leave me alone!“

She scrambles to stand up, but he can see how wobbly her legs are, how pale her face...

„Here, let me help you...-“

„Don't you _dare_ to touch me!“

He feels her gathering the Force and backs up quickly.

„Ok ok... just lie back down.“

She stares stubbornly at him, clunching the edge of the nighttable with a white knuckled grip, never letting go of the knife, and pulls herself up. But instead of lying back down, she is supporting herself against the wall, all the while glaring at him.

„Rey... I am not going to hurt you. You are hurting yourself. Lie down and put another patch on your leg.“

He aims for authoritarian. Or at least assertive.

But his voice is doing funny things and he suddenly feels like he's 14 again. 

He hopes lands at the least somewhere close to  _ reasonable _ . 

Her gaze burns like a lightsaber on his skin.

„NO!“

He sighs.

„Please.“

Rey looks away, somewhat angry and frustrated and … embarassed at the same time. 

„I...“

He waits, watching her fidget, clearly reluctant. The Bond is filled with swirling emotions, making it hard to distingish what's his and what's hers. It's always been chaotic like that and he can only hope that she's worse at reading them, unplucking and examining them than he is. His obvious...  _ appreciation _ of her at some times would probably not be well received.

But there is something now that sticks out oddly, out of place among the rage and frustration and pain and fear that is her familiar reaction.

It almost feels like humilation, that is not coming from him. 

She looks at the floor, legs shaking from the effort of merely standing up and visibly deflates.

He has to strain to make out her whisper.

„I... I need to go to the bathroom, let me out.“

Oh.  _ Oh. _

Right.  _ Right _ . Of course. 

His ears burn again.

She looks back up definantly at him, and he can feel himself … blushing, cursing himself. 

The sudden odd sense of privacy is deeply unsettling. 

Even more unsettling than being back in this old ship. 

More unsettling than being locked up with her in close quarters after months of no contact. 

Even  _ more _ unsettling than his little trip to the  _ other _ side.

They are basically strangers, having actually met face to face only a couple of times, and never in a particular  _ friendly _ matter. Well. Almost never.

Then there is the Force Bond, connecting their minds in the most intimate way, ripping away all boundaries or walls between their memories and feelings. 

He knows hardly anything about her, and he knows her better than anyone else. 

He saw her past and her fears and her most private dreams. 

He saw her thin body, battered and almost naked in front of him.

He _sees_ her discomfort and embarassment at being locked up like this now, weakened and in need for medical care.

And he's surprised by his urge to nurse her, of how easy and good and just  _ right _ it felt to clean her body himself and dress her wounds. 

He has never nursed another person like this, never even came close to feeling the urge to do so.

Never been so intimate with another body that was not in a sexual context.

And it's been a very long time since someone else nursed him, took  _ care _ of him.

There is noone he trusted enough now, so medical droids have to do. 

When he left his meeting on the spur of a moment to run to her, he actually never thought that far, about what would happen once he collected her. 

All he knew then was that he had to help her at all costs, and he would help her now as well.

„Of course. I can carry you...-“

She cuts him off. „ **No** .“ There is steely resolve in her eyes.

„I do **not** want you to touch me. I much less want you to _carry_ me. We had enough of that already. Leave me alone. I don't need you.“

She clearly  _ does _ need him. There is a small bathroom right next to his old room down the curved hall, but it's a short walk away. He's taking a step towards her, but she is raising her scalpel at him with a shaking hand, now with both ferocity and genuine terror in her eyes.

They both know it's no match against him, powers or not, but at this moment, she's clinging to the only thing providing her some sense,  _ any _ sense of safety. 

Even in her weakened state, she would go down fighting. 

The blackened, rotten, useless thing in his chest does an uncomfortable twinge.

He sighs again, backing up. 

„Just... call me if you need help.“

She snorts, and there is enough venom in her voice to make him flinch. 

„I wouldn't call you if you were the last person in the galaxy. Now leave.“

He bristling at that, wants to point out that it's kind of hard to 'leave' when you're locked up in a not functioning, cramped _fucking_ piece of junk _shit_ _space_ _ship_ and that he might be very well not the last person in the _galaxy_ , but in this Force forsaken solar system in the middle of fucking nowhere and she _did_ in fact call him, that she used their bond on some subconscious level to save herself. 

But then her pale face and shaking legs override the urge to provoke her again. Narrowly.

Besides, if he makes her pee herself in the end, she will definately murder him in her sleep and he has to sleep sometime  _ soon _ and he had enough of such assassination attemps in his lifetime already. 

So he inclines his head at her slightly and leaves her room towards the cockpit, hovering at the end of the curved corridor, listening intently at her laboured breaths, her shuffing, painfully slow steps towards the bathroom until the door finally closes behind her. 

When the door opens after a while, and it sounds like she is crawling - _ crawling- _ back to his room, his frustration makes him ready to punch someone. 

He could of course try to knock her out again with the Force and just carry her back, but he suspects that this wouldn't go so well in the long run. 

Rey got stronger over the past months. She wouldn't sleep for long. 

And then there would be hell to pay.

She would just fight him and then possibly injure herself and lose even more blood. He has no idea about the human body besides a general understanding of his own past wounds, but he had the dark Force to contain damages and she clearly did not know yet how to do that. 

So he doesn't know much bloodloss is too much, and he has zero interest in taking a chance to find out with  _ her _ .

He also has zero interest in fighting her like this.

Besides, testing their bond, her walls are up and she is on high alert, her resolve to keep him out airtight. It most likely wouldn't work anyways.

So he busies himself in the main room to fill a pitcher of water from the tank and grabs one of the cups from the cabinet. He grimaces to see the emblem of a pod racing tournament and pushes it all the way back into the cupboard. There is another one with a familiar cartoon character next to it, one that he adored when he was little. 

He swallows, grabbing the next best cup and slamming the cupboard shut. It's grey, with a Kashyyyk swamp depicted in soft colours on it.

It will have to do. 

He makes his way back to his old room, lingering at the closed door. 

„Rey?“

„Go away. Why can't you just leave me alone?“

Her voice sounds subdued and utterly weary, her earlier fire burned out.

„I have some water for you.“

There is silence for a moment, then something like a sigh.

„Give me a moment.“

He listens intently to the rustling inside the room.

„Ok, you can come in.“

He opens the door slowly, seeing her fighting with the last button of an oversized white shirt with her limp arm. Her left is still clenching the scalpel, a long sleeve partly hiding her hand. 

The shirt old and a bit frayed and he wonders who the owner was. Someone from the resistance? Or someone from this ship? 

It stuns him and brings up a ton of unwanted and warring emotions, to see her in another man's clothes.

In his old room.

In his old bed. 

He needs to find something else for her to wear.

And burn this shirt.

With a little more strength than strictly needed, he slams the pitcher and the cup down on the nighttable. 

Rey suppresses a flinch, trying to project a brave face instead. But he can sense her unease, her weariness through the bond, through her walls, through the energy around them.

It annoys him that she is afraid of him, after all he went through to come and collect her. 

She is breathing quickly, forcing herself not to shrink back against the wall.

She is tired, dark circles under her eyes.

He's tired too, having been up for almost two day circles now.

He sighs, and turns around to leave her. She needs to sleep, and it's not happening with him looking over her. He tries to not be hurt when he hears her small sign of relief. 

At the door, she calls out to him. 

„Kylo...?“

He half turns, not meeting her eyes. 

„T-..Thank you.“

There is something stuck in his throat. He just nods and closes the door quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorrynotsorry, but gritty realism is my thing. From enemies to ... caretakers is bound to become awkward *fast*.  
> Raise your hands if you'd also like to be nursed by homicidal supreme leader ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Kylo "meditates".

Back in hall, he is facing the doorway to the cockpit, but can't bear being cramped up with the ghosts in there.

He feels utterly drained.

Hungry, sweaty, tired and drained.

He chooses the main room, opting for meditation first, shower later, then food. He really needs to rebalance himself, to gain some focus and concentration to finally fix this fucking distress signal and call some help. Being stuck in this ship for too long makes his skin crawl.

He settles in the middle of the floor crosslegged, hands on his knees, trying to block out the surroundings, the old, much worn furniture, the dusty smell, the familiar beeps and creaks of the Falcon.

Rey's unique signature is there, everywhere, weaving through the ship and it feels so heady, light and exhilarating to be so aware of her presence again.

Closing his eyes.

Breathing in slowly.

Quieting his mind.

Then he opens himself to the Force, sinking into the familiar darkness.

The Force is everywhere, roaming freely through the ship, having a certain mournful undertone, but that could also be Rey.

He's on the dark lake, floating on his back on the surface.

Darkness above him, darkness below, calling out to him, longing to reunite.

It's chaos. It's beautiful.

_Peace is a lie, there is only passion._

Calming.

Familiar.

Welcoming.

He senses the utter truth in these ancient words, hones in on their black gravity center.

Peace is a lie, there is no peace to be found on board of this ship.

_..._ _there is only passion._

It's a dangerous path to walk down, especially now, especially with Rey so close.

But he needs to center himself, needs to gain some rest, so he listens intently, and casts out carefully with the Force. The ship is quiet except for the hum of the generators, and Rey's energy in the Force is subdued and tired, close to falling asleep.

He focuses on his own mental shields and then starts to meditate on the old, darkside vows.

_There is only passion._

It's so easy to think of Rey and let himself sink back into the dark lake, let himself be enveloped by the dark waves until they surround him. It has become second nature.

_There is only passion._

Rey, locked up in an interrogation chair, afraid but oh so defiant.

Rey, on all fours, with him driving into her recklessly while burying his hand in her hair, pulling hard.

Rey, standing over him, snarling like a feral animal, snowflakes dancing around her in the night.

Rey, on top of him, riding him like he is nothing and she is everything and she is just taking what she wants, what she needs from him.

Rey, curled up in a blanket at a fire, reaching out to him with teary eyes, touching him in more ways than even possible.

_There is only passion..._

He lingers on this moment, imagined how it could have gone if _he_ hadn't interrupted them too early.

They had been racing towards this one moment, as if it was inevitable from the very beginning.

He would have taken her hand, then pull her to him.

She would have let go of her blanket and stumble into his arms instead.

He'd cradle her close, entranced to have her back in his arms again

He'd kiss her and kiss her and kiss her, for as long as she wanted.

He'd make every effort to be sweet to her, so sweet _for_ her.

Undress her slowly in the flickering light of the fire and worship her all over, warm her body with his own.

Show her that she wasn't alone, and never needed to be lonely again.

Teach her the ancient vows, teach her the words and the meaning behind them, kisses and licks and bites, burning bright and fueling the dark Force lingering inside of them with their...-

Something isn't right.

The Force is humming in a very specific, very satisfied frequency. That only happens...

His eyes fly open and he is so startled that he nearly loses his balance in his crosslegged seat.

Rey is lying in front of him on the floor, her head propped up by one elboy, looking a little startled and a lot angry. At him.

He hunches over quickly, closing his legs.

„Rey...-“

„What are you doing here...-“

Both speak at the same time.

She's a splitsecond quicker to understand. He's still a bit distracted and recovering not as quickly.

„Ohhhh great. You didn't creep back into my room, it's just the Force connecting us again.“ She rolls her eyes.

He catches up, somewhat relieved, but still wrongfooted.

Rey is still in her room. A Force connection. Right.

„... I don't know why it keeps doing this to us? Why we're so randomly connected, when we are in the same ship anyways. I just wanted to go to sleep.“

She sounds so put out and tired and cranky.

He knows of course why they were connected in this particular instance, but he's keeping that to himself.

Looks like even his shields are not good enough in such close proximity.

Fuck.

He needs to be more careful in the future.

She looks oddly at him, apparently a lot more at ease to talk to him when they are not actually in the same room, but connected through the force. He wonders why. They could still touch, as they have established before.

„What were you doing?“

Well.

He won't lie to her, he never did. But the full truth is absolutely no option here either.

„I was meditating.“

„Meditating? You?“

Her eyebrows shoot up. She looks extremely surprised, incredulous at him. He drinks in her face, so expressive and open.

„The great Kylo Ren, Supreme leader of the dark Forces, ruler of the galaxy,... is meditating?“

He dislikes her mocking tone. He really _was_ meditating before the Bond interrupted.

„Great skill comes from great discipline. Maybe you should try it sometimes.“

Now she is annoyed, bristling at his snippy tone.

„ I meditate sometimes! I just didn't think you would. Don't you Sith draw from chaos, pain and murder?“

He dislikes that accusing tone even more. Sith . As if...

„Clearly, you have no idea what you are talking about. This is not at all how it works...“

Before he can fall into a heated rant, he pauses for a moment, a conscious effort to swallow his anger. It wouldn't do to fight again.

This could be an opener to a conversation he wanted to have with her for a very long time now. So instead, he aims for a more neutral tone.

„... I... could show you, if you'd like.“

She is startled, looks at him, really looks at him for a long moment.

Stuying his face, lingering on the scar she left before staring into his eyes.

He tries to return her look evenly, but fails, something must have slipped through.

She breaks their gaze, slightly shaking her head. Disappointment waves its bitter streaks through their Bond.

„No. I'm not interested in you dark side stuff.“

He can't believe that they are really having this conversation.

Now.

After she threatened to kill him in his sleep AND waved a rusty little knife in his face not even one hour ago.

Rey's mood are as mercurial as his own.

Having imagined this a thousand times before, he's not ready to drop the subject so quickly.

„You know... you don't have to medidate with the Force on one particular side all the time. You could do either, or stay in the middle, although that won't reap the same results. It's just easier to choose a path and stick to it.“

She hangs on his lips, looking a bit doubtful but mostly fascinated, and he sees the conflict in her, feels it screeching at him by the sheer proximity of her. She is so curious, so eager to learn about the Force. But the only master she ever had is gone now.

And she clearly blames him for that. Whatever his opinion is on this particular topic, he has to keep this in mind and tread carefully now.

Rey is also very obviously still bent on walking on the light side. She doesn't see – or rather, doesn't want to see- how so much potential there is for her on the other side.

So hungry for knowledge, torn between starving and feasting.

He can see her internal battle, wants to push her, influence her, but forces himself to stay out of it.

In the end, curiosity wins.

„What... what do you mean, you could use both? Can you use both?“

He cringes a bit, but opts to be truthful.

„I... could. I chose not to.“

„But you could teach me how to properly meditate on the light side?“

She sounds so hopeful for a moment. Slightly breathless even.

Resiliant, selfsufficient Rey.

The Force sings between them.

He studies her face, drinks her in. It's been too long since they actually talked.

She would have to start out somewhere anyways. Even if he doesn't like it, she could still follow his path.

Start on one, then understand the other.

See the potential.

Besides, he wouldn't teach her like the Sith go about it anyways. It might be an effective method, it proved to be effective for him and worked out well. But his training was harsh, often cruel. Demanding utter obedience and submission.

And there is a certain appeal there, in the thought of making Rey submit to him in her rightuous anger, something that he allows himself to dwell on only in very rare, very dark hours.

But no, he'd be a gentle and understanding teacher for her. Not exploiting her fears and weaknesses, but showing her how to overcome them. In the end, she would choose his side, choose to be at his side. As they are meant to be, one way or the other.

He looks evenly at her, her hopeful, beautiful face.

„Yes, I could.“

She looks startled at his words. Clearly, she didn't expect that. Then she frowns, and the Bond is tinged with … sorrow?

„Well then, would you?“

„I just said so.“

She stares at him, sitting up. Excitement is blooming in her eyes.

„Well go ahead then.“

He stares back, dumbfounded.

„What, right now?“

„You just said you would.“

He rubs his face.

„Rey... now is not a good time...“

Her eyes dim, and she withdraws. The temperature in the entire ship dropped.

The Force carries her wave of disappointment over, drenching him like a cold shower.

It would unbalance him even further.

It would do nothing, nothing for his focus or concentration. In fact, most likely it could severely weaken him.

And it would take a while, maybe even days until he'd recover his equilibrium. Doing what she asked him to do, his knights might even pick up on the change in his Force signature if he wasn't careful to hide it. They'd question his loyalty. They might end up fighting him.

It's the worst possible idea.

But Rey is there, she's talking to him, and they have the first real conversation in a long time.

„I could explain some of the mechanics to you...-“

She cuts him off, turning away from him.

„Don't bother, I don't even know why I asked.“

He feels the Bond connection fading, she's actively trying to close it down.

Suddenly, he can't bear the throught of her withdrawing again. Not after them just having a real conversation. After she opened up to him after months of stony silence.

It was more than he would have imagined could happen after the desaster of his rescue mission so far.. or the desaster before.

„Rey, wait.“

Besides, maybe it could be advantageous. Rey's signature was all over the place, bombarding him with her feelings, making it so fucking hard to just _focus_. And she was still very weak and hurt. Maybe she could Force heal herself, or at least close that graze on her thigh.

„I'll show you.“

She turns back slowly, eyeing him dubiously.

He tolds out his hand to her.

She recoils.

„No!“

A familiar wave of of anger surges up. Why does it always have to be this way with her? He snatches his hand away.

„How did you think this would go?“

„I don't know, did your dark master hold your hand?“

His eyes harden. His first lesson in meditating was... painful. There was very little handholding involved. He buries the memory.

She looks at him sharply.

Her eyes piercing.

Her proximity is somehow ...choking him.

He doesn't know how he slipped up, but whatever she just saw through the cracks makes her eyes soften slightly.

Her scrutiny burns.

He doesn't want her.. pity?

And suddenly, he wants to flee. Or lash out. Destroy something.

He wants to...-

Rey takes his hand.

She just leaned over and had taken his hand in hers.

The contact is shocking.

The Force swells up between them.

The Bond is singing.

It's deafening.

He can't breathe.

The useless thing in his chest hurts.

Rey... Rey looks up at him.

Eyes soft.

Determination on her face.

His hand starts sweating.

„Show me.“

Show her?

**Rey is holding his hand.**

Having her so close, her hand holding his shoots his concentration to hell.

Show her...

There are many things he would like to show her right now, but none are related to what she has in mind.

He swallows, and shields them all off.

Then he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and opens himself to the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meditation and conversations and handholding, oh my!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is squeezing his hand again.
> 
> You are a surprisingly good teacher.
> 
> It's throwing him off.

It's hard to quiet the mind when there is another presence so close to him.

Holding his hand.

Filling the room with excited, anxious and …incredible happy energy.

Rey's emotions bombard him, a colorful chaos that explodes behind his closed eyes. He hasn't meditated with someone else in the room for a very long time, and finds the experience a lot more distracting than anticipated.

But then, it's Rey, and it's their Bond connecting them, and as usual, their connection sings and hums and ebbs and flows between them. Almost a living thing, connecting their minds in the most intimate matter.

She is in her bed.

He is on the floor in the main room.

They are holding hands.

It's terrifying.

It's exhilarating.

He wants to soak up every minute, every second of this, but he told Rey that's he'd show her, and he wants to make good on his word. Too much went wrong between them, too much trust broken by his careless temper and her spitfire nature.

So he gently tries to block her feelings out and his own apprehension of what is to come and breathes in and out, opening himself wider to the Force.

Even if the beginning is always the same, for both light and dark, it's infintely harder now.

His focus is jumping and he can feel Rey getting twitchy.

„...What are you waiting on? Are you secretly plotting how to drag me over to the dark side after all?“

He almost has to smile.

_Shhhh Rey. I promise I am not._

He uses their Bond to speak directly to her mind.

_Quiet your mind. Open yourself to the Force. You know how to do this, right?_

„Yes.“

Now he has to smile a bit, despite himself. His amusement must carry through the Bond, and he feels a responding chagrin.

She tries again, this time, in his head.

_Sorry!_

Instead of answering, he gives her hand a little reassuring squeeze.

He can feel Rey opening to the Force, feels it weaving between them, through them, their linked hands an open channel. He hastily focuses on enforcing his shields, putting all thoughts he doesn't want to share into that little hidden place that he created when he first started his training with Snoke.

There are memories of his parents and his childhood in there, of Chewie and his former friends, happy moments of life in the temple. And when Rey crashed into his life, increasingly more and more of these moments with Rey ended up there as well, things he took great care to hide from Snoke.

When he finally killed him, his biggest relief wasn't that he was finally free of the bastard.

His biggest relief was that their Bond was still there, that Snoke had lied to them and it was just another of his petty little intrigues.

He had triumphed over Snoke and had managed to guard his most precious memories after all.

It takes him some moments to make sure all private thoughts are secured and he can sense Rey growing antsy.

_Why aren't we starting? I thought you wanted to teach me._

Hearing Rey's voice in his head does things to him.

_Patience young Padawan. I'm a bit rusty so give me a moment here._

Again, her answer is a little chagrined, a bit melancholy but mostly blinding, scorching happiness.

He cradles this feeling close, his treacherous heart beating almost painfully in his chest.

Then he gently places it into the locked place and refocuses on the task at hand.

_Rey... Find your inner calm. Push away all feelings, all emotions. Feel the connection through the Force._

_The connection between us?_

Us.

There is an _us._

_No, the connection between everything. Between the ship and the stars and the emptiness surrounding us._

It's harder to meditate in space, with so little lifeform or nature around them. But they'll have to make do.

Rey is casting the Force out, tentative, searching, expanding. Her mind is opening up and it takes a lot of him to not go sneaking around in there. He shoves the temptation away. Rey's signature is warm and welcoming, and he lets it be his guidance towards the light side.

It unfurls, slowly, reluctantly and as always, always, makes him feel small and inadequate. Scrutinized and judged unworthy. It's been like this from the beginning, from the time in the temple and before he even knew what was light and what was dark. The light had always this uncomfortable presence to it, that felt like... rejection. As if whatever he did was never good enough, as if it's unnatural for him to use. As if he bent the Force against its will. Later, when he learned more about the dark side, about its easy command, it all clicked into place. The Force finally didn't make him feel … deficient anymore.

But again, it's would do to dwell on the dark side now.

He focuses on Rey, on her breathing, on the warmth of their linked hands.

The Force between them heats and envelops them, an almost visible, blindingly bright entity, ready to be accessed and be drawn from. It feels enourmously powerful, so much more than when he conjured it to heal Rey. It was so different on the ledge then, and it bent to him less due to his proficient command of the light side, but more out of sheer desperation and willpower.

Rey gasps, her concentration breaking.

„Oh Ben... You healed me! You used the light side of the Force to heal me on Bal'Demnic. I thought you just patched me up.“

It's breaking his concentration, too.

He will have to be even more diligent to not let anything slip thought. Rey wasn't supposed to see this.

Apparently, teaching Rey will be both a struggle and a delight.

_Rey. Refocus. Now is not the time for this._

But Rey fills the Bond with her excitement, her suprise, and her giddiness, her focus all over the place.

He will have to guide her through the steps.

_Think of an ocean. You are on an island, and you are safe. Look out on the water, and you feel the salty air on your face. See how calm and peaceful the sea is._

He sees the ocean in her mind, a lush green island, rocky terrain, and steep mountains. The ocean in her mind isn't particular calm.

It's not the island that he expected to see, the one he ripped from her mind after Takodana. It's image is vivid and full of detail, probably a memory of a place she had visited. It's not perfect, but it will work. At least her emotions calm down and he senses her efforts to sink into the meditation.

_Now, do you know about the Jedi code?_

_You mean, be peaceful, harm noone?_

_No, I mean the literal Jedi code._

A bit of sadness bleeds through their Bond.

_...no. Luke and me never got so far. I tried to read some old texts, but I couldn't really translate them._

_Ok. I'll teach you. It's an easy way of accessing the Force. There are other ways, but they are usually more advanced._

Excitement blooms, and Rey is clutching his hand tighter.

_Do you know them?_

_I do know them, but I haven't mastered them on the light side. I abandoned my training before getting so far._

Sadness. Sorrow. For him?

_Don't worry. It really is very advanced. For now, there is no right or wrong way of doing this. What I show you is just how I used to do it. You might also find your own way in a different manner. If you progress so far, you can use the Force to guide you on instead of me._

She is squeezing his hand again.

_You are a surprisingly good teacher._

It's throwing him off.

His access to the light side feels clumsy, feeble. He redoubles his efforts to sink into the light side, shoves the conflict aside, shoves his own churning emotions aside, shoves reluctantly Rey's praise aside. Later, there will be time to examine it. Now he needs to concentrate at the task at hand.

This at least, is familiar terrain.

Focus.

Discipline.

Willpower.

_Rey. Stay at the ocean. Look out. See how vast it is. See how it's filled with life._

Her mental picture grows more vivid and he almost feels the spray on his face again.

_Very good. Now, experience how vast the Force is, how much limitless power there is to drawn from._

_I see it..._

_In order to access it, you need to find your inner peace to let it flow through you and gather it. One way of doing this is to feel the truth in the Code. The truth will channel the Force into you._

    
    _There is no emotion, there is peace._
    _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._
    _There is no passion, there is serenity._
    _There is no chaos, there is harmony._
    _There is no death, there is the Force._

Rey listens intently.

The sacred vows of the Jedi ring poignantly between them. It's terrifying.

Rey repeats the words in her mind, and it sounds like a prayer, pure and beseeching and steadfast.

There is something innocent and untouchable in the way she is slowly repeating the lines and he feels... _ashamed,_ without exactly knowing why.

The Force swells between them, dwarfs them.

Its power infinite, so much grander than he ever accessed.

Is this the Bond? Or just two Force sensitives meditating together? It was never like this in the temple.

_Rey... now find the truth in these words. Find the meaning behind them._

Waves are crashing against the rocks. Grey clouds race across a leaden sky. The wind is ripping at their clothes. Rey is holding his hand, looking out at the sea.

_I don't understand. Why is there no emotion?_

His heart beats and beats and beats against his ribs for a long stretching moment.

He can heardly breathe.

There.

_There_ is the snag, the niggling thought that was his constant companion during his training in the temple. How can there be no emotion? There is always emotion.

Rey sees what he sees.

Rey _sees_ it.

She really sees it.

He tries to shield his triumph from her. As much as she wants to walk on the light side, her truth lies in another set of vows.

She will come to him when she is ready.

He knows it now.

The thought makes him almost dizzy.

And it would be so easy now to give her a gentle little shove, to have her question it all. Her confusion the opening he so long searched for. He'd be truthful in confirming her doubts, telling her they mirror his own.

Encourage her to try another set of vows instead, feel how they taste on her tongue, ressonate in her heart.

But he gave her a promise.

He promised.

He _promised._ __

...But she is asking him.

She is asking him.

Does this even count?

It would.

He knows it would, knows it's not the time to be technical or literal about something as essential as this.

With time, she will find her own way to him. For now, he needs to stick to his word, as much as temptation claws at his insides.

Rey notices that he shut himself off, notices his continued silence.

She turns from the ocean to him, studying him.

In their mental picture, he keeps his face stony and unreadable.

Inside, he wants to yell at the oean. Howl at the clouds. He wants to run crazy circles over the rocky pebbled beach. Wants to gather her in his arms and twirl her around.

He tries to keep the victory sparking out of his eyes. It's taking him every effort, every ounce of discipline to do so.

He gathers all of his long trained willpower and shoves the thought away.

Then, after he trusts himself to speak to her again, he repeats what his teacher told him back then, aiming for a neutral impression.

_Peace is the absence of all emotions. When there is peace, you don't need to feel anything else anymore. It is the absolute, the ultimate._

Rey is frowning at him.

_It's... hard to grasp. The concept takes time and practice to understand._

He never understood it. Does this count as a lie?

He gave his _word._

_I still don't understand._

_Try focusing on peace. When have you felt at peace? Gather this moment close, the one where you felt most at peace, sink into it. Let its truth guide you._

Rey turns away from the ocean, looking out at the island instead.

It's suddenly night, and it rains heavily. Thunderstorms rage over the island. The soil smells rich and wet. Cold is seeping under his skin and Rey is clunching a blanket to herself.

There is a fire...

He finds himself thrown into a familiar scene. The fire. The blanket. The teary eyes.

A hand reaching out across a galaxy. The lightest touch. The connection ringing in a multistranded, multivoiced song.

He is speechless. _This_ is Rey's peace?

He feels her drawing from it, feels the light Force flowing, pouring into her.

Hears her repeating the vows in her head, over and over.

Her raw strength is surprising him. Rey is truly his equal in the way the Force accepts and follows her call.

His fingers burn where they touch hers. The most intimate connection he ever had in his entire, wretched life. Her eyes, glowing with acceptance and compassion at him, seeing him.

Welcoming him.

Inviting him in.

He longs to pull her close.

To embrace her and hold her tight and never let her go.

To kiss her and keep kissing her...-

Suddenly, the image changes, and his thoughts bleed through.

Rey is startled, grasps. Her concentration breaks.

No, no, no no no _nonono...-_

He desperately tries to cloak his thoughts, but it is too late, Rey is persistant, her hold on his hand tightening and she is diving ferociously into his mind. He tries to throw up a shield, to retreat, but he's unbalanced, his emotions all over the place, panic making it hard to think. Rey is brandishing the Force like a flaming sword in front of her, hacking at his meager defenses and there... there is the image he conjured of him touching her, slowly undressing her....-

He snatches his hand away as if burned.

Their image breaks and they are back in the mainroom of the Falcon.

He stares at her, horrified, mortified.

She stares at him in openmouthed shock, too many emotions dancing over her face, too many things rushing through their Bond to pick one out and examine it.

He wants to explain, wants to desperately take it all back, but it's too late. No words want to leave his mouth and he is panting so hard that he's close to hyperventilating.

Rey stares at him, and then tears are filling her eyes.

Before they can spill over, the connection winks off.

He's alone again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 100 Kudos. I'm still in shock and denial. Thanks so much for following me on this little therapy session, err... journey! I'm humbled and happy and so inspired by the response that this has gotten <3  
> Kisses and hugs to everyone!
> 
> (Except for Ben - for him, they didn't turn out as expected...)  
> Come rage at me in the comments :p


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study in self loathing – heavy angst ahead. You've been warned.

He had never understood the appeal of alcohol.

Drinking makes clumsy, makes uninhibited, and it just doesn't taste very good.

His whole life, he was always more interested in expanding his consciousness, not dimming it down.

...

And if he was honest with himself, really fucking honest for once, it was also one of the Jedi lessons that Skywalker had dinged into his pupils that just stuck.

…

He never attends the late night gatherings on the star destroyer with his officiers or generals when they relax and become informal. _HE_ doesn't do informal. He's seen Hux drunk once, a pitiful experience that made him look down on the man even more.

…

But now... now the alcohol serves him well.

He is sprawled on the cold metal floor of the mainroom, back propped up against the back of the seating area and raises a dusty bottle in silent salute.

_Cheers to you, old man, for always stocking the Falcon with the essentials._

He takes another long swig of the whiskey. It burns, and tastes like crap.

He doesn't care.

The room gets fuzzy around the edges.

Ghosts settle in next to him, a wispy hand of nothingness patting this thigh.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes for a moment.

…

For the first time, the very first time in his fucking miserable life, he is cursing the Force.

It was always a gift.

Always precious, bigger than him.

Always something that singled him out, made him feel... special, fated. Purposeful. A path that was bestowed upon him, to accomplish, to conquer, be victorious.

Even in the temple, when it made him feel inadequate at times, he never once wished for the Force to be truly gone.

But he does now.

Fervently.

...

When the Bond winked off, and Rey was gone, it felt like a limb cut off.

Her teary eyes cut deep into him, opened something that just wasn't meant to be opened.

Maybe they are not meant to be after all.

The Force seems to send him a message there.

...

Another swig.

His vision turns blurry.

...

He has seen Rey cry way too many times already.

More often than not, he was the reason.

…

Another swig.

Maybe the taste wasn't so bad after all.

Something seems to ruffle his hair affectionally, and it reminds him of his childhood.

He eyes the dusty bottle in his hand, how old might it be? He found it in one of the Falcon's secret compartments.

The lights in the room seem to dim, turn warmer. He doesn't feel the cold of the metall floor anymore.

His consciousness dims, but not the pain and regret.

Somehow, the alcohol rather enhances them.

Seems to beckon him to open those fucking floodgates and just wallow in it all.

His father...

What he did to him...

A puff of air, too faint to really discern, a sigh?

He can't, he can't think about this now, it's too much.

...

But for the first time in his life, he wonders what it would have been like to have a normal life, without the Force. To have a father, present and solid, to ask for advice on how to fix this.

He snorts into the bottle.

It would have been terrible advice.

But it would be something that other fathers and sons did, right?

Talk about... girls... how difficult it is to navigate all of this...

...

He imagines Han then, sitting on the floor next to him, sharing this bottle, sharing fatherly anecdotes and wild stories of his own past, making him feel awkward and embarassed and not alone.

Commiserating.

He would talk about Leia, how they met, how they fought, how infuriating the woman could be, how careful he'd be in handling her moods. How they made up...

...

He never had a moment like this.

First, his parents pushed him away.

Later, he retaliated, pushed them away.

And now it is too late...

...

The bottle is a third empty now. His empty stomach is protesting. He doesn't care.

...

Earlier, when Rey vanished, he was so _panicedshockedmortified_ that all he could do is sit like an idiot on the floor, gaping at the empty space.

What he would normally have done, was to rage, to destroy, to break something apart.

What he should have done, was to meditate, find his balance again, and then try his fucking best to get the fuck out of there.

What he wanted to do, was... to cry.

Or rather, he did not _want_ to, at all. It's been ages since he last did that.

But there was the telltale prickling behind his eyes, the choking feeling in his throat, …

Pathetic.

...

So instead, he went on a hunt through the secret compartments of the Falcon, careful to be quiet, not to get nearby his old room.

The door was shut.

Rey had closed herself off.

An impenetrable, smooth wall. She was behind it, that he could feel, but he could not even make out if she was awake or asleep.

He should have knocked.

…

He was not man enough to do so.

...

Instead, he sneaked back into the main room, and opened the bottle.

That second trip to the light side in so many days had left him feeling disorientated and shivery and _weak._

When had he last felt so conflicted?

Where did his fucking conviction go?

Is it really the right path?

What is the right path?

Is there even one for him?

It was not the light one, of that he was certain.

But what else is out there?

...

What a fucking failure he is.

There it was, everything he ever wanted, just in reach, and he ruined it again. How could he be so _carelessstupidfuckingstupid_?

Rey would never give him another chance now.

...

What fucking game is the Force playing with him?

Was this is personal punishment for the all things he had done?

Wave something precious in front of his face, only to snatch it away again?

...

Another swig.

Where was this oblivion that alcohol is supposed to bring?

...

He is cursing the Force.

All his life, he had looked down on his father, on the simple life he had led, unaware of what the Force had to offer.

Weak without it, weak and foolish.

But for the first time, he's questioning if Han didn't have it better in the end. Without the Force. Without the complications. A simple life. A happy life...

...

He imagines meeting Rey, like a normal man. He'd care for her, provide for her, bring her flowers and shit. They'd be happy...

…

Something like sob tries to claw its way out of his throat.

He's resolutely swallowing it down with another swig.

…

…

„Hej Kid.“

His reflexes are too dimmed down now to be startled.

He raises his gaze.

And there he was, at last.

He's eyeing him cooly.

"You picked the very best moment to finally come and torment me, uncle.“

Blue light flickers around the man in tattered robes. He looks old. Older than in Crait. Tired somehow. Is that even possible?

He takes another swig.

„I came because your own torment is strong enough to overcome the darkness you use to wall yourself in.“

He chuckles, but it's joyless.

„Then lay it on me. What pearls of wisdom do you have to share at this time?“

He opens his arms wide in invitation, bottle in hand.

Another swing. He's not nearly drunk enough for this.

Luke is taking a seat opposite him, and with annoyance he notices it's the same spot that Rey had vacated a short while ago. His uncle just looks serenely at him.

How... _Jedi_ of him.

To not attack first, but wait until the last second to defend.

Well he doesn't have _that_ particular problem.

Attack is always the best defense.

He musters as much contempt as possible, aiming to cut, making a show of eyeing the blue apparition up and down.

„Death becomes you.“

Luke just keeps watching him, unperturbed.

He stares back.

The recycled air in the Falcon grows thick and tense and he's suddenly a boy again, in a remote temple far from home.

He toys with the label on the bottle.

Takes another long swig.

He won't lose this waiting game...

„Well? What is it you came to tell me now that you finally grace me with your enlightened presence?“

Fuck.

Damn the whiskey.

Luke signs, and it's a broken, boneweary thing.

„Ben, I forgive you.“

He _laughs ._

An unused, bitter sound, caging in the sob in his throat nicely.

His eyes burn.

Ridiculous.

„Let me get this right: _YOU_ forgive _ME?_ Oh that's rich. _YOU_ tried to murder _ME_ in my sleep. _YOU_ should seek _MY_ forgiveness.“

Luke just gazes sadly at him, across the room. Gone is the serene manner. His shoulders hunch, and he looks even more tired, more aged. More broken.

„I know there is no forgiveness for what I did. I failed you, utterly failed you, in so many ways. It's not my place to seek forgiveness from you.“

He looks away.

It's too much.

Too much on top of everything else.

It's a conversation he never wanted to have, and yet, his uncle's words dig out long buried emotions.

It hurts in places that are usually under tight control.

Locked away.

„Ben...“

„Shut up, ... **Jidai!“**

He hisses the word like an insult, his mouth too quick for his brain to catch up.

His voice not fully his own. He wants to take it back immediately, but it's too late. The word snaked out on its own, now hanging heavy between the two man, winding, curling, refusing to dissipate.

Luke always had a way of provoking him like this, of shaking something lose that he should have a tight reign on.

Luke merely raises his eyebrows at the ancient, foreign term.

Then he grows serious, his face hardening.

„Listen Ben. If THIS is how it is now, if this the path you really want to walk, you will lose yourself entirely. You think you can handle it, you think you are in control, but you are not. It is a knife's edge you're dancing on, and you don't even see anymore how you cut yourself.“

He wants to say something, but Luke cuts him off, his voice getting even sharper.

„Your path is your own, but don't drag Rey into this.“

Rey.

Rey.

Always Rey.

How dare Luke bring Rey into all of this. How **DARE** he? Rage flames white hot through his veins. Luke refused her, Luke left her unknowing and weak. He had **HURT** her.

He leans back, setting the bottle on the floor next to him, crossing his arms.

A cruel smirk curls his lips and his eyelids lower as he delivers his next verbal blow.

„Ohh... I see. Is it because it is now _I_ who teaches her and not _you?“_

Luke stares hard at him, shaking his head disappointedly.

„It is not and you know it.“

He wants to crush, wants to lash out, wants to hurt. He wants to crack that fucking serene facade. Luke is not nearly unmoored enough.

He delivers the next punch sweetly, gathering as much verbal venom as possible.

„Or is it that you _did_ want to teach her after all and never got the chance? Before she came running to _me_ _?_ Like I will teach her... **_everything?“_**

He lets each syllable drip from his lips like poisoned honey.

It saturates the already overfull room, the implication thick and heavy and nasty.

Luke stares incredulously at him.

That punch finally connected.

He basks in the bitter satisfaction.

Luke is... _flustered._

Can Force ghosts blush?

He just glows blue, staring at him.

„Kid, you need to start thinking with your head again. And I don't mean the lower one.“

He pauses, needing to collect himself, before continuing.

„Rey doesn't deserve this, her life has been hard enough already for you to lead her astray. Leave her out of this.“

„You know NOTHING ABOUT HER...-!“

But Luke just cuts him off again, his reply also heated.

„On the contrary, _dear nephew_ _,_ I now know it all. I see the path you walk, and I see hers intertwined. The girl has been alone her whole life, and she's susceptible to the darkness. Do you want her on your conscience as well?"

 **Rage** boils up, and it finally bubbles over.

How dare he lecture him on REY..

How **DARE** he?

It's too much.

He wants to howl, claw, main, kill.

He takes the bottle and throws it at Luke.

It flies right through him, crashing against the opposite wall.

Shards and whiskey flying everywhere.

But Luke is gone.

The tears finally fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, sad chapter is sad, and all over the place, but so is Ben.
> 
> Poor Baby :(
> 
> I promise it gets better soon!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Kylo try their hand at domesticity.

Betrayal.

The overwhelming sense of betrayal.

That‘s what hurts the most.

She placed her faith in a dirty _SITH_ , again, and _again_ , he abused her trust.

Disappointment.

The bitter taste of disappointment.

Rey considers herself an optimistic, downright positive person.

Believing in second chances.

Believing in the good in people.

Believing, maybe a little, also in HIM.

Despite the odds.

Despite their past.

Despite...

Anger.

So much anger.

A boiling sea of rage and fury.

Mostly at her own stupidity.

When will she finally learn?

Believing in a lost man.

Tears well up, mostly out of anger at herself, for letting herself be tricked.

_Again._

Once was not enough.

She felt the Force course around her, all aound her, all through her.

The light flowing through her veins so richly, enveloping her in a warm, comforting embrace.

She wanted out.

She couldn't face him now.

The Force heard her, and cut their connection abruptly.

So now, she is alone again in her bed, bewildered at what just happened, at the strange expression on his face, at the absolutely uncontrolled tangle of emotions rolling through the Bond from his side.

Tears spill over, and before one of these ugly, deep racking sobs can break free, she punches her pillow. Hard.

Pain shoots through her injured shoulder.

Why did he _do_ this?

Why be so... nice... and then turn around and do something so _crass_? As if Kylo Ren and nice actually go together.

There is another man underneath, one that held her hand in her darkest night and that man might have been _nice_ but he is buried six feet under.

The one she is currently being locked up with just wants to pull her over onto his side. Whenever they were in close proximity, emotions and intent bled through their Bond, even when he thought he was being sneaky and able to hide them from her. And he did have the intention to turn her eventually, but his intent in that room, his _promise_ to teach her, rang true and clear.

She had seen a very brief glimpse of his mistreatment from Snoke. How cruely he was abused. How young he still was then, young and confused. How ruthlessly he was trained. He had judged it as his only option left, all alone in the world otherwise.

He had believed his parents would believe Luke.

And not him.

He wanted her very much to join, wants this still, even after Snoke, even after Crait.

After hunting the resistance and her down for _months_.

After killing people, killing _friends_ of hers... all to show that he's the man in charge of the Galaxy now.

Her tears fall more freely now.

… How often had he made her cry in the past months?

She thought he was sincere when he agreed to teach her.

But then he dirtied up one of her most precious memories.

Why?

Did he really think THAT would make her join him?

It makes absolutely no sense.

There is... black chaos in their connection.

Panic. Pain. Anguish even. Frustration. Regret, but mostly... Something dark and twisted, something like selfloathing?

So he isn't exactly happy either?

Well, tough luck.

Most likely because his little trick failed.

She'd **never** turn to the dark side.

Then their Bond starts to... change. She can't put her finger on what he's doing exactly, but it feels both strangely dimmed and at the same time, artificially enhanced.

The coil of his feelings unraveled, and there was... pain. Regret. An overwhelming sense of regret... and loss?

It would be so easy to poke at their connection now, dip into his head, with him leaving their Bond wide open. But she has seen enough already when she dove into his mind.

Instead she casts out her senses through the Force.

It is there, humming dissonantly.

And there is him. A wild mix of dark and light. He _had_ truely opened himself to the light Force.

It had welcomed him reluctantly, but it had.

There is light in him now.

A lot more actually than what she senses most of the times from him.

More tears fall.

Tears for the man that he once was.

Tears for the man that he could be... if he only wanted to.

He can be cold, murderous, deadly.

He can be cunning, arrogant, driven.

But he can also be... patient. Understanding. Almost... gentle in teaching her.

And he came to save her, like a stupid dark knight in shining armour.

And he had _healed_ by using the light side. Had wielded the light side with enough skill and conviction to save her. The Force had accepted him back into its arms for this. The thought makes her both incredibly happy and bottomless sad.

There is still light in him.

Her sobs are dying down.

Suddenly, the Force on board of the floating Falcon is changing its frequency. Fuller somehow, filled with a serene energy. What on earth is he doing?

She casts out her senses through the Bond again, but it's not him, he's still miserable. It's something else...-

Then the Bond dims down, as if a door is gently, but firmly shut in her face and she is somehow cut off of him. Strange. It didn't feel like _he_ was doing that. She can still feel his energy signature on board, but that's all.

The ship is eerily quiet. Is he meditating?

It never felt this way before...-

And then, she is suddenly embraced in warmth. And light.

She wants to open her eyes to see...-

But they keep falling shut and she is way too tired to resist the deepest sleep of emotional exhaustion.

_She dreams of Leia that night._

_The dream is bright and colorful and vibrant with life._

_Leia is searching for something, a thread in her hand. They are following it, with increasing urgency._

_They run down dark corridors together, hand in hand and suddenly they are in Maz's castle._

_Something is calling out to her at the end of the thread, and Leia is urging her on before stopping herself._

_The elderly woman smiles wordlessly at Rey, and there is an unspoken agreement, about how Rey will now run and take over while Leia will be waiting for her._

When she wakes up the next morning, she feels _great_.

It's the slow ascent to wakefulness that only the Falcon can provide for her.

_Safewarmhome._

Awfully rested and utterly energized.

Then last night comes back, the Bond, the meditation session, the images.

The _images_.

She buries her head underneath the blanket. With slight annoyance she realizes that it's still his cowl.

Maker, she had seen how he sees her.

Unique and alluring instead of common and plain.

Desireable instead of … flatchested.

Yeah, there was that...

Who is she to be desired by a man like him? He probably could summon whoever he wants, whenever he wants. Probably does so. She imagines him enjoying a different woman every night, sampling what his galaxy has to offer its ruler.

She shoves the thought out of her head resolutely.

And yet...

The image she saw yesterday was so tender, so… _heartfelt_. Was it a cleverly crafted deception? She knows how very skilled he is in bending and controling minds. She'd seen it often enough in his head whenever the Force connected them.

As much as she wants to tell herself that he is a monster, _the_ monster from the forrest in Takodana, the monster that hunts down the Resistance, it's not entirely true.

When he turned away from her in the throne room, when he beseeched her to join him on the dark side, she felt her heart breaking. He took a choice, completely willingly. He was free of his master, free from all obligation and still chose to walk his dark path.

She felt so betrayed and angry.

So lost and longing for a connection that she almost gave in. But it wouldn't be a real connection. He didn't _actually_ see her. He only saw what was in front of him, and grasped it tightly... instead of her.

**...But there is still light in him.**

His path is not decided yet.

Maybe that's why they were connected. Why he came. Why they are now both floating around in space.

There is still light in him.

She's repeating it like a mantra.

As long as there is, she will try steer him back to where he belongs.

It is her duty as a Jedi. And her duty to her friend Leia.

With that plan, conviction burns through her.

Rey sits up, swings her legs out of the bed.

After the past hellish days, she feels downright _fantastic._ The wound on her leg is fully scabbed over and rotating her shoulder, there is only a mild twinge now.

Strange... not too long ago, she felt like run over by a speeder. Is this the effect of light side meditation?

She gets up and feels only mildly wobbly.

Examining the Bond, it seems to be back to normal. Kylo is there and he's in...

She frowns.

He's in absolute agony, and, at the same time, also in a fair amount of physical pain.

Something's wrong.

She's hurrying out her room, ignoring the slight dizzyness and sensing him in the fresher.

The door is open.

He's on his knees.

_He's on his knees clutching the toilet._

She _stares_ at him in alarm.

„Kylo... Are you ok?“

He's startled by her sudden appearance, but doesn't turn to her. Apparently, he didn't even sense her approaching.

Before she can enter the tiny fresher, he waves a hand sloppily at the door.

It hisses shut, right in her face.

Right.

She takes a deep breath.

„What's going on Kylo? Are you ok? Let me in.“

His voice is muffled by the door. Even so, she can hear that he's _not_ alright, his voice pressed between his clenched teeth.

„Rey... please... just go away and let me be...“

Then she hears him retch. Violently.

When she gets to the main room, it starts to make more sense.

There is the overwhelming stench of whiskey that the auxiliary aircon hasn't cleared out yet. Splashes on the wall, glas shards everywhere.

That _bastard_ got drunk off his ass last night.

She huffs and turns to the cockpit. If he can throw a tantrum, he can clean this mess himself, she won't do that for him.

The cockpit isn't in much better shape.

The main panel of the systems is unscrewed and there are lose parts and screws with no rime or reason _everywhere_. No wonder the ship is not flying. _Someone_ ripped it all apart and left the mess abandonded.

For whatever reason, she always imagined him to be tidier. But why be surprised?

Kylo Ren is leaving a wake of destruction and chaos everywhere.

She hears the sonic show rattling.

Ahh... Party Boy is pulling himself together.

She goes back to the kitchen area in the main room to prepare something to eat.

There is one polystarch portion bread and enough caf for two cups. She sighs.

She doesn't really like caf, and is not one of these morning people that can't properly function without. But it proves to have its uses. The resistance often ran on fumes and sheer will, so caf procurement was always prioritized, and always consumed in raw quantity.

Preparing their meager meal, she takes inventory of what is left to eat. They still have her energy bars. Those they can make last for 2-3 days. And they have water. Some sugar, pepper and weird spices.

Rey sighs.

The sonic shower falls silent.

Busying herself, wonders where he slept this night, or the night before.

Water boils and she gets the caf ready, slowly filling the mainroom with its aroma, chasing the stench of whiskey away.

Head shaking, she's rummaging through the supplies closet as he enters the room.

Their bond immediately tingles.

Like it sagged before, and their proximity in the same room drew it tight again.

Is that the effect of meditating together?

It didn't feel like this before.

He's.. subdued in the Force, still a chaotic whirl of black and white. Ashamed. Anguished. Maybe a bit scared even?

The back of her neck prickles.

He's surprised to see her up and in the main room.

She turns around to face him.

He looks... bad. Eyes squinting, even paler than usual. Death warmed over. Hair still slightly wet, hanging limply into his face.

Rey wanted to ambush him first, but takes pity at his sorry state and shoves the cup of caf over the counter.

„Here, drink some. I'm sure you'll feel better afterwards.“

He perks up a little, taking the cup like the peace offering it is. His voice is quiet and even more rumbly than usual.

„Thank you Rey.“

He eyes the cup, and then there is something there, something unidentifyable in this innocent little cup with its deep royal blue flowers on it, but he shrugs it off and downs the caf quickly, grimacing a bit.

„Eat something, too. Your stomach will need it.“

She shoves half of the polystarch bread over as well.

He eyes it suspiciously.

„What _is_ that?“

„Bread. Eat it, if you don't want the caf to burn a hole into your stomach.“

His complexion is still a bit green in the face. It goes nicely with the dark circles under his eyes. He makes no move to take the bread, instead looking down into his cup. It looks ridiculously small in his overlarge hands.

Somehow, Rey is flustered, and busies herself with her own beverage and bread.

They are both silent, and it's an uncomfortable silence, a dark cloud hanging heavy and ominous in the main room.

He's clearly trying work up the nerve to tell her something. She's waiting. He remains silent.

Instead, he finishes his caf, and putting the cup back onto the counter quickly as if it burned him.

She looks up. He eyes her cup, the one with a cartoon character on it.

There is a flash of a memory before he can shut it down. The cup was once his, a lifetime ago. It's a painful memory for him, and his eyes drift to the distance, lost in thought.

„Do you often drink so much that you make yourself sick?“

Maybe that came out a bit more accusingly than intended.

But it works to drag him back out of his head.

He's flushing, up to his ears that stick out between the damp hair.

It's oddly human for such an imposing man.

It's also utterly fascinating how a humanoid can change between different colours so quickly.

„Never actually.“

There is truth ringing in his words. He's not trying to hide anything, keeping his part of the connection wide open as if to prove something to her.

She's answering with conviction.

„ _Good_. Don't make a habbit out of it.“

Rey doesn't like drunks. She really really doesn't. In Niima, the drunks, especially the men, made her very uncomfortable. Too many dangers for a woman living alone. Too unpredictable behaviour. Too many painful memories connected to her childhood.

He looks up, looks sharply at her, even more chagrined than before.

„It won't happen again.“

She focuses on her plate, picks at her bread.

It's a very bizarr discussion to have with your _mortal enemy_.

She nods her head at his part of their meager meal.

„Eat something. I'll have a look at the mess you made in the cockpit.“

He takes his half, sniffing is suspiciously, then taking a bite. And pulls a face. She wants to snatch it out of his ungrateful hands and eat it herself.

He chews it quickly and swallows it with difficulty.

His face turns back to its former greenish tint.

Fascinating.

„... Or you could have an energy bar? I brought a couple, they are in my bag.“

He looks at her then.

„I already ate those.“

Her stomach sinks. Like... it sinks into her knees, then proceeds to the cold metal floor.

„You... _WHAT_? You ate them? ALL of them?“

No. Oh no.

He shrugs, slightly defensive.

„I was hungry and had my hands a bit full with this unplanned little rescue mission. So I didn't exactly have time to prepare a three course dinner in between taking care of this junk ship and taking care of you.“

Yeah right, 'taking care of you'. This reopens a completely different discussion Rey absolutely does not want to have right now.

Focus on the problem on hand instead.

Food. They need food.

Her stomach sinks even further, below the metal flooring, making room for rising panic. He looks up, and she can feel him feel _her_ out in the Bond. It's easier to pinpoint his attempt now. He must have done it a lot in the past.

There is guilt in the Bond, but there is also something awfully close to selfrightuousness.

He's crossing his arms over his overbroad chest and manages to look down his nose on her in the end.

„What's your problem, Rey?“  
  


„Well that was all I brought.“

„What do you mean, that's all you brought?“

He shuts up, understanding dawning on him. Then he continues increduously.

„You didn't bring more food? Why on earth not? Don't you have anything stocked on here?“

He looks bewildered, and opens the next best cabinet as if to prove a point. It contains mismatched pots and plates, a boardgame and tools. No food.

Her anger spikes.

„Because...-“ She stabs a finger at him „There is just no food anymore. We hardly have the credits to refuel our ships.“ Her voice is raising and she just can't bother to dial it back down. „We need to make portions last. YOU blasted our supply ship out of the sky two weeks before. Like YOU did with the last one. AND the one before.“

Rey is shaking with anger. Now this at least was familiar ground.

He just looks at her for a long moment, stone faced, Bond tightly closed. There are things running through his head, only visible in his expressive eyes, and he's calculating how best answer, how to diffuse this particular bomb.

Also, he looks a little pained, as though her rising volume hurts his head.

_Good_. _Let it hurt._

It's a vicious thought, and Rey regrets it immediately. A little at least.

But then, he really is to blame for the death and destruction and suffering they have to endure. All because of his own overblown ego. His insistance to walk on the dark side.

She wants to take the stupid cartoon cup and throw it at him, adding to the mess on the floor.

When he answers, it's soft, a little pleading, almost a whisper.

„We're at war, Rey.“

As if that is an explanation.

Or an excuse.

She hisses her answer at him, furious how this turned out.

„Damn right we are!“

She turns abruptly back the supplies closet she was rummaging in when he entered the room and opens it with a bang.

He winces behind her.

Then she finds what she was looking for and turns around with the long handled broom.

He takes an immediate defensive position, but it's a lot less graceful than what she's used to from his fluid, elegant fighting style.

Jaw clenching, she thrusts out the broom to him.

He takes a reflexive step back, shards crunching under his boots.

She keeps thrusting the broom wordlessly out at him.

He just stares at her in utter bewilderment.

„Clean up your mess Kylo, I'm not your cleaning lady.“

He gawks at her like she suddenly grew a second head.

„... W- what?“

She gestures at the mess on the floor.

„The glas shards. We're on a damn space ship and can't have glas flying around. Clean up your own shit.“

Has that man never held a broom in his hand?

Probably not.

Well, now is his shining hour to learn.

Rey thrusts the broom into his hands, and stomps out the mainroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I tried to sit these two idiots at a table and let them have a real grown up open discussion about feelings and shit.  
> But I had to write and rewrite and torture this chapter until I just can't edit it anymore. Uagh.  
> If they don't want to, who am I to make them?  
> Also, I think it's soo much easier to write from Mr. "cleaning-technics-challenged" POV.  
> Which POV do you guys like better? His or hers or both?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo and Rey play house - part 2

Rey makes her way to the cockpit in a huff, but hestitates in the hall. Maybe she should take a shower first, feeling grimy and gross after being shot down and lying in bed for way too long.

The tiny fresher is still damp from its previous user, the towel – the _only_ towel- left carelessly on the counter, bunched up and ...wet.

Rey sighs and hangs it up to let it dry out a bit.

Now that her wounds don't hurt her as badly as before, she manages to strip slowly and step under the old fashioned sonic shower, its walls having some lingering water drops on them.

The tap is still turned all the way to cold. He must have needed it to pull himself together again after his bender last night.

It's weird.

They often use the Falcon to go on missions or supply runs, and it is always a bunch of people cramped up on board, leaving very little room for privacy. She never paid it much mind, as they are soldiers, comrades and some of them friends.

They are at war, and they can't be picky or squeamish.

But now, standing under the water-saving very fine spray and cleaning herself up methodically, she can't help but wonder. Her mortal enemy or whatever they are right now, occupying this very space a couple of minutes ago, starting his day in the fresher like he normally would.

Or hopefully, not normally.

He seemed rather truthful when claiming that this massive hangover was not a part of his Supreme Leader party routine.

He also seemed to sense that it makes her uncomfortable.

But then... everything around him, everything about this situation they found themselves in, makes her uncomfortable.

Rey made up her mind on Crait.

No more second chances.

No more Force Bond.

They will meet and they will fight and she will try to kill him, to save the galaxy from the First Order.

But instead, she almost got herself killed. And he showed up. And patched her up, or rather, _healed_ her.

Meditated with her. Taught her.

Shared an involuntary peek into his thoughts.

And suddenly, suddenly she can't help but realize that not only have they been enemies all this time. And Force users. And warriors.

There is another dimension to them, one that was invisible to her.

He is also a _man_.

And she is a woman.

And _he_ has been hyper aware of the fact while she has been rather oblivious to it.

She stops scrubbing herself and leans her forehead against the cool tiles.

Rey had read some discarded romance novels on Jakku. Had seen the comings and goings in Niima outpost, couples sneaking off behind tents and dunes. Handholding, giggling, whispering.

Girls being stupid, girls left behind with big bellies.

With a lot of problems and very little options.

Most of them stopped scavanging and started in the skin trade.

She had seen how victories had been celebrated in the resistance camps, debauchery and music and cheap alcohol.

Seen how losses have been mourned with seeking comfort in each other in the oldest, most primal connection.

And she had always been on the outside, a silent observer to these shenanigans.

Like the concept is something that applies to other people, but never her, so she didn't pay it any particular mind. Too focused on survival her whole life. Too isolated on Jakku. Too busy with their course in the resistance.

So why does Kylo Ren, ruler of the galaxy, entertain _these_ kinds of thoughts about her?

Is it just a male thing, to fantasize about all the women they come into contact with?

Although, she never caught him thinking about other women before.

Maybe he didn't have to, having a wide variety available at all times?

She imagines him then, and a buxom blonde, intimately intertwined.

His large hands on her curves, her eyes closed, head thrown back in passion.

She blushes, and blinks, and chases the thought away.

Maybe he just hides it better.

It's his private business anyways.

But now that they share this space, share their meals and share a damn _towel..._ how could they ever go back to what they were before now?

All the lines are becoming blurry.

She misses Finn, wishes she could talk to him.

Not about Kylo Ren. Never about him. That would not go over well. But about this in general. He'd be able to explain, give her some insight. Help her understand this mess and make some sense out of it.

And why does she even think about that? She should start working on fixing the ship and getting out of there. Especially since they now are out of food.

She resolutely turns back under the spray and finishes washing her hair.

The towel is still damp when she wraps it around her. It is damp from when _he_ used it, from when it had touched his _body._

It's weird. She was never sensitive about things like that before, but now it makes her flustered, giving her all kinds of strange throughts.

He had used her brush as well she discovers.

And... Poe's dark blue toothbrush. Better not tell him that.

She dresses again, in the large shirt she found earlier and in some men's shorts that someone must have forgotten on the ship, foregoing her panties and bindings. They are so filthy that she can't stand putting it back on after showering and being clean. She will have to do laundry soon, and see if she can salvage any of her cut up clothing.

On the way back to the cockpit, the main room is eerily quiet.

There is a slight... disturbance on the Force, something calling out to her, repelling her at the same time.

She can sense his flickering light, small and pitiful, but it's stronger than before, yearning for her own light.

And she can sense his darkness, inky, whirling, bottomless, tugging at her, curling around her and the answering call of her own.

She peeks into the room, and sees him crosslegged in a meditative pose in the middle.

The glas shards are gone, and even their cups are cleaned on a rack. Wonders do happen.

He's still pale, paler than usual, but his hair dried, falling in its usual waves around his face. She studies him, the dark circles from lack of sleep, the shadowy stubble starting around his mouth, making him look less imposing and more.. normal somehow. She wonders what he would look like with a beard. Would it soften the harsh lines of his jaw? Would it make him look older? She doubts there is a razor on board.

His eyes are closed and he appears to be concentrating hard, lips pressed thin, eyebrows drawn tight together.

He's struggling.

He's also still in pain.

On an impulse, she brushes against their Bond, catches the tailend of a thought, or a mantra, or something else.

_...Through Victory my chains are Broken..._

He opens his eyes, looking annoyed.

She immediately retreats, feeling like she is intruding.

Then he takes her in, her freshly scrubbed face, the mismatched clothing, way too big for her, the damp hair, open to let it dry quicker.

His gaze wanders, burns her.

„What is it Rey?“

She should go to the cockpit and start working on the controls.

She should leave him alone.

And she really shouldn't give in to this sudden streak of curiosity.

„... what does that even mean, 'through victory my chains are broken'? _“_

He studies her for a long moment, weighing his options. There is something eager lurking in his eyes, something almost predatory ready to pounce.

There is a part annoyance, but there is also doubt.

He cocks his head, decided to answer her question with a question.

„Why do you ask?“

Yes, why _did_ she ask? It's a stupid stupid idea, an impulse she shouldn't have given into.

Better to switch the subject quickly.

„Do you want a painkiller? I think we still have some left.“

Stupid stupid _stupid_. Why offer? They should keep those for when they need them after a real emergency, not to cure a hangover. It's his own fault. He shouldn't have it easy.

 _She_ shouldn't make it easy for him.

She shouldn't have brought it up in the first place.

He looks taken aback.

„Why are you offering?“

Yes, why? _Why_?

She can't help but take a jab.

„Because it's the _decent_ thing to do. You're obviously suffering, although it is entirely your own fault.“

She's arching an eyebrow, driving the point home.

He ignores her point entirely, looks even more surprised.

„Why do you even care?“

Yes, why? Why does she care? She really shouldn't. But he had taken care of her as well, went out of his way to help her, went as far as weilding the light side for her again.

She sighs, regretting to have even started this conversation.

„Do you want them now or not?“

She hopes he says no. They should really try to save them, but now it's too late and she can't take it back anymore. Why is it always so damn hard to talk to him? It feels like every time she is trying to have a conversation with him, and he has a completely different one with her.

He studies her intently.

„...It's alright. Save them for when you might need them for yourself. I can take care of this.“

She's relieved. And intrigued. He wants to use the light side again? He was so hesitant the night before...-

He must have caught onto her train of thought, contradicting her gently.

„No Rey, not like this. The other side can heal as well. It just works differently.“

Disappointment.

What else did she expect?

She's surprised though that the dark side can heal as well. She shouldn't ask, she really shouldn't...-

„Why didn't you do that to me then?“

Damn.

Again, he is giving her one of these long, pondering looks. His eyes burn into hers, their connection tight and vibrating.

It's unfair, how he knows so much more, how he is so much better trained than her. She could learn so much, could help out so many more people. But judging from their little impromtu session last night, it's the worst idea ever. She should leave it be. Focus on getting home. Forget this ever happened.

„Why are you asking me about the Dark Force Rey?“

The way he is using her name, how it ressonates within her through his stupidly rumbly voice is making her uneasy. His voice is a bit deeper, even rougher than usual. She was never aware how her name, so plain and simple, could sound like in his particular cadence.

It's almost as if he is teasing her, but there is no playfulness, no amusement in his tone.

Rather something like... diversion.

For someone so eager to pull her over, he is evading her questions a lot today.

He was never particularly evasive before.

Rey doesn't have any interest in learning about the Dark Force. Why would she need this knowledge anyways?

„You know what, just forget I even asked.“

Annoyed, she turns around to leave him be.

His answer follows her down the hall.

„On the Dark side of the Force, you can only heal yourself. It is because it it inherently selfish. So it can't be wielded to heal others.“

She stops for a moment to ponder this.

Selfishness.

Selflessness.

Then she retreats to the cockpit.

The cockpit is, in short, a disaster.

Not only are all kind of parts thrown together and mixed up, a few of the electrical components shorted out showing burn marks and on top, some cables have been ripped out haphazardly by not properly dismantling the casing before removal first.

Rey keeps muttering a string of Jakku-born choice words at the mess while starting to methodically take inventory about the damages.

Blown communication panel – check.

Damaged connection to the AI – possibly salvagable.

Dataline to the hyperdrive – a goner.

Navigation system – beyond hope.

She sighs and gets to work.

He is still in the mainroom, a restless, shadowy awareness on the other side of their connection.

So what if he's back to meditating on the Dark side again? What's it to her?

She shouldn't be so disappointed in that, really shouldn't give it too much thought. But she can't help but _hope_. There is an unsteady light in him, and it got stronger over the last days.

She wants to cradle it close, nurture it.

He is not beyond redemption yet.

If he is hellbent on continuing his dark path, she will just have to try a bit harder.

And it's just so easy to entertain these thoughts, to try to come up with a plan while she is on her own. But everytime they are talking, there is just too much standing between them, seperating them. Then it all tends to go downhill and they end up fighting over something.

It has always been so much easier to talk when they were Force-connected and not actually in the same room. When there was safety in the knowledge that if he turned and tried to hurt her, she could cut the connection and just _leave_.

But here on the Falcon, leaving is a luxury they both don't have.

And if she's really, _really_ honest with herself, it's less the thought of physical pain that scares her. They have fought, and they have hurt each other. She knows she can hold her own, at least for a while, with him.

But it's the words that cut the deepest. He is in her head, like she is in his. It's the intent and the push and shove that make her weary.

She senses him first before hearing his steps in the hallway coming closer.

Lying on her back working overhead on the underside of the mainboard, his ridiculously long legs come into view.

She resolutely keeps working on reconnecting the wires, ignoring him.

A plate appears in her line of vision, with his half of the polystarch bread on it.

That gets her to crawl out from underneath the mainboard.

He is squatting in front of her, offering the bread silently, eyes unreadable.

She stares at it, then at him, puzzled.

He's the first to give up their silence.

„Here, eat something.“

„It's your part of the bread.“

„I don't want it.“

As if on cue, his stomach is rumbling.

„I thought you didn't lie to me?“

The retort might be a bit sharper than intended. Why ist her first impulse always to bite, or to needle him?

He glares at her.

„I really do not **_want_** to eat it.“

He's defensive, stressing the word like it's important to him to prove he's not lying.

Then he sighs, looking a bit... rejected. Looking for words.

„Rey... I... I'm sorry.“

She raises her eyebrow.

„About what exactly?“

There are a couple of things that come to her mind that could warrant an apology.

He looks annoyed again.

The bread is a peace offering.

She should accept it.

She should stop pushing him.

She should...-

„About eating your food. I don't want you to go hungry.“

There is a sea of emotion in his eyes, but his face is back to its expressionless rigor.

She could have a few choice words about this. About their war, and their cut off supply lines. About the sick and the injured and the old suffering from it. Everyone suffering from it.

But lecturing him now would just further drive him away. He is trying to be _nice_ for once _._ He apologized – for something small rather and in the grand scheme of things, something irrelevant. But he is trying. The least she could do is try as well.

She takes the plate, nodding.

„It's alright, you didn't do it on purpose.“

He looks relieved, the harsh rigor of his face melting away.

She sits up crossleggedly, eyeing the bread. Then she hands him the plate back.

„You eat it, it's your part. I already had my half.“

He stares at her and the plate, utterly mystified. And isn't it always like this? They are never on the same page.

„You haven't eaten at all the past days. You need it more.“

She shrugs.

„I'm used to it.“

In her mind, she is transported back to Jakku. Desert sands, boiling heat. Hunger for days...

He's reading her, both her face and her mind. She should be annoyed about the intrusion, but she is guilty of it herself more often than not. There is anger in the Bond, … shame but also compassion.

She choses to focus on the last one.

„I really don't mind. You just have to drink more. Then it's easier to bear.“

He looks... agitated. Disgusted.

„Just eat the fucking bread. I don't want it.“

He slams the plate onto the pilot's seat next to him and stands up to leave.

On impulse, she grabs his hand to stop him.

The contact is jarring. Electric.

The Bond sings.

He looks down at their hands, frozen in place.

They are linking, bridging their connection, making it so much more solid. As if their grinding edges finally slot into place, finally _fit_.

She feels his light, flickering wildly. It's warm and it's brilliant and it's _him_.

Hope.

She smiles up at him.

„Let's share it then.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will i ever get them to fix this frigging ship? Idk *hangs head in shame*... sorry this is dragging, I have no idea how to make this any quicker.   
> Both of them really do have a mind on their own when it comes to plotting and characterisation and both don't like to *behave*.  
> Maybe I should add the slow burn tag?  
> Speaking of slow, definately was inspired by this, take the spacing out :D  
> https: //www.youtube.com/ watch?v=vdy2Nx_VkWE&list=PLS_gQd8UB-hKkIK4rqxdrXfwDRDcL5Jgc&index=3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever she's doing, it is changing him, like she is mentally rearranging something deep within him.
> 
> It's hell.
> 
> It's agony.
> 
> It's bliss.
> 
> It's peace.

They shared their pitiful meal in silence before she went back to attempting to fix the dataline of the AI.

Laying on her back again, Rey is muttering to herself, how the Falcon more often than not has issues with its three droid brains, as they squabbled and are quite frankly pretty old already.

Unsure of what to do, he lingers in the cockpit, unwilling to leave her, toying with some parts lying across the floor.

Rey doesn't seem to mind.

His hand still tingles where she touched him.

He had to pull himself together not to keep holding it when she broke the contact again. To say her gesture surprised him is an understatement. It was the second time in the past 24h that she did that. Does that mean she forgave him for the night before? She seemed more angry about him getting drunk than … the stuff that happened before.

Does it mean he still has a chance, any chance with her?

Or was Rey just kind to him? Was it just her generally kind nature?

Rey is the only person in the entire galaxy he could actually talk to.

The only person that he actually also _wants_ to talk to.

Just... talking would be enough. 

The rest is out of question anyways.

He checks briefly to make sure he's not transmitting anything. But Rey's mind is lasersharp and focused purely on the parts and wires in front of her. In their connection, there is nothing but determination and persistance.

He wanted her to have the stupid disgusting bread, felt actually really _fucking_ bad about it, but when she took his hand, when she actually _smiled_ at him, he couldn't say no to her. He managed to hand her the bigger piece at least.

Rey had **smiled** at him.

He's still marveling at the concept, repeating the moment over and over in his head. She never smiled at him before.

It had made the rotten thing in his chest do things it's not supposed to do.

It made him feel inadequate and unworthy, just like the light side does.

It made him feel like she saw something in him that he doesn't see himself.

And now, he sits on the floor in the cockpit, long legs stretched out in front of him, watching her work, admiring her obvious skill with these electronics and machines.

Her delicate little hands working nimbly at the small parts, her face crunched in concentration.

It's almost like she forgot that he's sitting there with her, silently watching her.

He's antsy and oddly at peace at the same time.

Antsy because they are basically screwed, being stranded in the middle of Force knows where, with noone knowing their location, run out of food and options.

But he's also strangely at peace. If this is his end, if this will be truely the end to his miserable life, it's ending on a high note, together with her...-

„Damnit you nerfherding, stupid piece of...“

Rey is not happy apparently. She crawls out from underneath the mainboard and waves a screwdriver in his face.

„What in _hell_ did you do to the communication panel??“

He just raises his eyebrows a little, trying to appear as innocent as possible. It must look peculiar as it's not something that his face is used to be contorted into.

Rey huffs and glares accusingly at him.

„It shorted out! Like completely shorted out! And then it caused an electrical burn that went right through all of our major systems. We are lucky that it didn't fry the backup generators as well.“

She throws her hands up, waving the screwdriver wildly. He keeps an eye trained on the tool, wondering whether she ran out of steam with her rant.

„I just tried to get us out as fast as possible before the storm could hit us.“

She eyes him suspriciously, but crawls back underneath the controls, muttering to herself.

„I bet you did something... It's _old_ damnit. The oscillator is very delicate. Do you have any idea how often I had to buffer it so that the vibrations during hyperdrive don't rattle it? What the hell did you do, did you punch it? You must have straight up punched it. Or done something else, something evil. Something Sith!“

He is taken aback, can't really tell if she is serious or if she makes... _fun_ of him?

Noone makes fun of him.

It's strange, and unused to, leaving him unsure whether to be offended or take it lightly.

The silence stretches while Rey picks up her tinkering again and he decides to aim for neutral, hoping to not come across too defensive.

„...I'm not a Sith.“

She stops briefly, but doesn't look up.

When she continues working on the panel, she keeps her voice carefully neutral as well, focusing intently on the wires in front of her instead.

„Why? You use the dark side of the Force.“

He's surprised that she responded at all. For all her insistance in having no interest in the dark side, she is still very much questioning him on it all day.

Their earlier ease is vanishing quickly, the air between them growing thick and full with undercurrents and unsaid things.

He has to tread very carefully here.

He nods, although she doesn't look at him.

„I do.“

„...But?“

„But... it's not the same.“

„...How so?“

Their connection through the Force grows tense, saturating with her unease and displeasure whenever they touch upon their differences.

Talking to Rey is both incredibly hard and, at the same time, incredibly rewarding.

He wants to lock down every second into his memory, every second that they are _not_ fighting and just talking.

To say he's not thrilled about her interest would be a lie.

He's thrilled to _be_ with her.

Excited beyond measure about explaining the dark side to her. About resolving her misconceptions. About making her _understand_.

But there is also danger in the room, danger to misstep and ruin it again and have one of them just _snap_. Probably him. He doesn't have a good trackrecord with this so far.

And then there is a certain... weariness that he just can't shove away. His head still hurts from the night before, a dull aching pain, hammering against his eyes, his skull. He tried to gather some strength through meditation earlier, but it was futile. He can feel the light in him, the conflict raging inside. The darkness didn't welcome him back with open arms, it treated him more like a jealous lover, spurned him. He's still feeling depleated, torn, _weakened._

And it's not only due to the lingering aftereffects of the alcohol, the nausea, the headache. On top of all this, his late night visitor shook something lose in him, something that he keeps pushing down, something that keeps persistantly _nagging_ at him.

He was warned, about himself.

He doesn't care.

But he was also warned about Rey... and in his rage and his intoxicated state, it flew right over his head. Now that he's back to his senses, the Jedi's words rattle through his head, demanding his attention, demanding closer examination.

He must have fallen silent for too long, because Rey is getting slightly annoyed with him, he can tell, losing her patience.

„The Sith were a faction with incredibly powerful tools. They knew how to manipulate the Force and bend it to their will...“

He falls silent again, looking for the right words.

Rey is listening intently, no longer tinkering with the panels, her hands burried motionless overhead but not turning back to him either, clearly waiting for him to continue.

„...They were incredibly strong Force wielders, but they also had strict rules and beliefs.“

„Like believing it's ok to kill? Destroy lives? Destroy entire planets?“

There's a sharpness in Rey's voice that burns like acid.

He wants to sigh, but swallows it down. Careful. The topic itself is explosive, and the atmosphere in the cockpit is starting to become electric, stormy and charged with her resentment.

„Well... yes.“

Rey freezes. He hurries to continue.

„The Sith were all about unquestioning obedience and control. You follow their path, or you are considered weak and you are killed. But I don't believe in that, I don't believe in following blindly. It's all in the past now. I believe in creating my own path.“

„...And your path is on the dark side then, bending the Force to your will.“

Her inflection is flat, almost toneless. It's not really a question, but it's not a statement either. He wishes Rey would turn around to face him, so he could look at her while explaining all of this, while trying to make her understand.

„It is. Ashla always rejected me.“

Finally Rey crawls out from underneath the mainboard and faces him, looking puzzled.

„Who's Ashla?“

„Not who, what. It's another name for the light side of the Force.“

„And the other side?“

„It's called Bogan.“

She cocks her head, clearly interested to learn more. There is a certain melancholy, a specific type of sadness for things lost and dead, for things that could have been, in their bond. There always is whenever his past comes up.

She is studying him then, and it's that uncomfortable feeling of being pinned down and examined, utterly transparent. Her eyes are piercing him and as much as he'd like to return her gaze evenly, he looks away first. Like a coward. But then Rey has insights in him that noone else has. Being in her presence, under such strong scrunity, always felt like looking straight into a sun for a second too long.

It's too much.

Eager to switch the subject, he tries to steer her away.

„How did you sleep tonight?“

If she is surprised by the sudden redirection of their conversation, she doesn't let on.

„Pretty well actually. I feel so much better than before. Even my shoulder doesn't hurt as bad anymore.“

She rotates her shoulder experimentally to show it off.

„So did you heal yourself then?“

Rey frowns slightly.

„No, I didn't. I don't know exactly how.“

„But you did it on the ledge.“

She shrugs.

„I had no idea what I did there, I was just trying not to bleed out and die.“

Strange. Meditation and sleep alone shouldn't have restored her to this point. There must have been something else at play. Or someone. He has a suspicion, but no inclination whatsoever to bring _that_ particular topic up now.

„I could show you, if you want me to. It's a useful skill to have.“

He hopes he comes across indifferent. Like her rejection wouldn't faze him.

She gives him another one of these long, searching, uncomfortable looks. There is determination in her eyes, that stubborn streak he so admires in her. She is holding something back, but he doesn't dare to probe their connection for it, doesn't dare to ruin this moment. He knows she wants to learn the Jedi way of healing. She's not ready for the other lesson yet, wouldn't accept it now. Would probably be angry with him for even offering. He's not stupid. Whatever delicate trust they have between them, it can't be endangered.

There are a million things rushing through her eyes, but he can feel her acceptance in their Bond before she answers him.

„I agree, I'd like to learn this very much.“

Relief.

Blessed relief at her acceptance. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help but _hope._

Rey looks expectantly at him. He almost has to smile. Always so impatient.

„... I guess right now then?“

They are stranded.

They need to fix this ship.

They need to focus on getting food.

_He_ really needs to stop meddling with Jedi things and rebalance himself.

But there's nothing he'd rather do right this moment than teach her again, to feel this incredible connection with her. Like everything is _right_ and as it's intended to be. He's craving it more than he ever wanted anything in his whole miserable life.

She nods, that brilliant smile of hers back again. His throat is suddenly dry and he has to swallow hard. The tips of his ears start to burn again, and hides it by looking around in the cockpit for something suitable to begin.

He settles on one of the smaller screwdrivers and summons it to his hands.

Rey looks startled and then alarmed when he tests the sharpness of the tool and starts to push his left sleeve up, releaving the pale skin of his forearm.

„Wait, wait, wait... what are you doing?“

„You need something to heal in order to learn how to heal it.“

„Wait, _what_?!“

She leans over and snatches the screwdriver out of his hand.

„Are you crazy? I don't want you to hurt yourself.“

„Well how else can I teach you? It's easiest when there's a bit of fresh blood involved actually.“

A flash of a memory, of his first lesson in healing on the dark side.

Closing wounds.

Repressing pain.

Containing blood.

There was a lot of it.

Rey jerks back violently, growing pale. The Bond must have transmitted something again, without him even realizing.

„I don't want to learn like _that_.“

It's not the Sith way, it's more a shortcut. He'd teach her how heal with the light side. Just his way, not like his uncle taught in his temple.

Her earlier easy smile is gone, and instead, there's a certain weariness in their Bond that's more seperating that connecting them.

„Rey...-“

She cuts him off.

„I don't want you to hurt yourself for my sake.“

He doesn't care about that. He's endured worse. Much worse.

„It's only a scratch, it's not like I'm cutting my arm off...-

There's conviction in her voice, finality.

„ _No_.“

He's crossing his arms over his chest, puzzled.

„Well what then? We'll just wait until one of us is hurt in battle again?“

Rey flinches. He wishes he could take it back again. The mentioning of future battles effectively burst the little bubble they have been in the past days.

They are still at war.

There will be battles in the future.

They might fight again, might even fight each other again, if they ever got out of this ship again.

It's a vicious circle they can't seem to escape.

Growing closer and repelling.

Hurting and healing.

He doesn't want to fight her anymore, not like this. And it's harder to learn this in the midst of a battle anyways, with all the adrenaline not giving room to find peace.

„I... I don't want to fight you anymore.“

Her voice is soft, and sad.

He rubs a weary hand over his face.

„Neither do I.“

They are silent for a long moment, each lost in their own thoughts. His head is killing him.

„You're still in pain... maybe I could work on that?“

She surprises him with her idea. Would it even work? It's not a real wound per se.

It's his _head_.

He is naturally very skilled in bending and invading minds. Always was. His inherent talent drove his parents, Han in particular, to desperation when he was a kid. While mind meddling was a neutral skill, used by both Jedi and Sith, his gift has always been favoured by the Dark Side.

He knows how delicate minds are, how easy it is to make irreparable mistakes. Knows instinctively when to be careful and gentle, and when to apply blunt force.

Rey doesn't.

Letting her meddle with his head is a particular stupid idea.

And then there's that issue with their bond, _transmitting_. Under no circumstances he wants a repeat performance of their last little session.

It's dangerous.

He should say no.

He _really_ should say no.

But Rey is radiating that same hopeful anticipation, that eagerness and... inexplicable _joy_... that he is just powerless to resist. Is it really making her this happy to learn about the Force?

To hell with it. They might die anyways. At least he'd have spent his last moments doing something for her. And if this works, he's at least gotten rid of this splitting headache.

„Rey... I... just... just be careful, ok?“

She's nodding, earnestly, eagerly.

He'd have to lie to say he's not nervous.

Rey is scrambling closer, sitting crosslegged opposite of him while he is drawing his long legs closer to give her more room. She's closing her eyes and he can feel how she is opening herself up to the Force, much quicker and more selfassured than the last time. Their connection is flooded with her light, blazing wildly around her, around them both.

He is still collecting himself, paying extra attention to secure his most private thoughts, locking them away methodically, one by one. Then he's opening himself to the Force as well.

As always, it is strange, foreign. He's piggybagging onto Rey and the bright warmth she is radiating. He's examined, accepted only reluctantly. He holds on to the thought that he just wants to teach her, guide her. _Help_ her. And the Force listens and lets him in.

He's regretting a bit that they are not holding hands this time, but their connection is strong enough that it's not strictly needed.

_Rey_. _Gather the Force, like you did in meditation._

She's not answering, but he can feel her concentration, can feel how serious she is taking this, how she is opening herself wider to the Force.

_Very good. Now... focus on your intent. Focus on what you would like to achieve, what you want the Focus do for you. Let your intent guide you._

He has to swallow, again. Here comes the tricky part...

_Now focus on me. Feel me through the Force, look for the root of pain inside or the damage and guide the Force there._

He can feel her innocence.

Her intent, pure, and clean, and good.

He hasn't earned this, shame rising up again.

Connected this way, they both can't hide behind words or bravado. It's so very intimate, beyond intimate. The very essences of their beings are bare in front of each other.

Her focus turns to him, like he instructed her.

It's utterly terrifying.

So terrifying that he is almost closing their connection.

Feeling inadequate in the face of the light side is nothing compared to facing Rey like this. She isn't probing his _mind_ per se, it's more like she is diving straight under the surface, examining his very soul instead, taking note of the pain there.

It's too much.

He is gently, mentally redirecting her to his head, letting her know to focus there, to focus on his bodily issues rather than the others.

It doesn't break her concentration, and he can feel how she is following his direction, earnestly trying to find the root of his discomfort there.

But he was right when he told her that a fresh wound is easier to learn with, as it's a clear, straightforward goal, a particular cause and effect. The pain in his head is more diffuse and she's searching carefully. Maybe he could show her how to numb it instead of healing it...-

His eyes snap open.

Rey has put her hand on his face, cradling his marked cheek and temple.

Softly, delicately.

She opens her eyes slowly, staring deeply into his, not breaking her concentration.

It's ... overwhelming, and he has to close his eyes again.

He can still feel the burn of her gaze on his faze, the careful light search in their connection, and then... then...

...the subtlest of mental touches, her slight exhale on his face when she finds it, and then... warmth and light enveloping him, cradling him, and he's floating weightlessly in a sea of her benevolent intent to comfort, to fix, to heal.

It's powerful and extraordinary.

The pain in his head dulls down to nothing, and even when it's gone, Rey keeps pouring warmth and comfort and acceptance through their bond.

He wants to shrink back, not having earned this at all.

He wants to never ever end this.

Whatever she's doing, it is changing him, like she is mentally rearranging something deep within him.

It's hell.

It's agony.

It's bliss.

It's peace.

It feels like Rey opened herself completely to the Force, to their connection, and he can almost hear how she is begging the Force to heal him.

She is still watching him, studying his face intently, his closed eyes, his marked cheek, his relaxed lips... and... he can tell suddenly that she thinks he's beautiful – _beautiful_ \- like that, at peace for once, in her care.

Stunned, he's about to draw back, to let her have privacy in her own mind when another thought flashes through their Bond, just for a splitsecond.

She's wondering what it would be like to kiss him like that.

_Kiss_ him.

**KISS** him.

The dead thing in his chest is beating painfully against his ribs.

He opens his eyes, finding hers.

She's pale, her eyes huge.

Seconds pass, or an eternity. The Force is a storm, dancing around them, weaving its own song.

He leans his face into her hand, not daring to move otherwise, not daring to breathe, to say, to even _think_ , a single word.

She's the first to break the spell, snatching her hand away and withdrawing.

Then she springs up, and, mumbling something about checking the engine room, hurriedly leaves the cockpit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I have written and rewritten this one more than I ever wanted to. From his POV, from hers, them finally fixing that fucking ship (I hate technical specs). Nothing worked. And on top of it all, the Muse TM insisted I write a completely different scene, one much further down the road. WTF? So I gave in and wrote *that* and just got it out of my system and then, and only then, went back to this one and it finally clicked. I swear, this story has a life on its own... Sorry for the wait! *phew*


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is is cold in here?... let's crank up the heat.
> 
> Beware of the rating change.

He's stunned.

Utterly unrouted.

Rey just smiled at him again.

She cradled his _face._

She thought about _kissing_ him.

The fact alone keeps circling through his brain, restlessly, endlessly.

_Kiss_ him.

Rey.

Rey wanted to kiss _him._

Well... Rey had at least _thought_ about what it felt like kissing him.

There has been an innocent curiosity in her line of thought, a shyness boardering on insecurity. Has she ever kissed someone before?

Someone on Jakku? Someone in the resistance?

She's old enough, surely she has _some_ sort of experience...

And she thought about kissing him.

The cold metal floor underneath him feels like it is swaying slightly.

Of course, he had fantasized plently about kissing her. Wild and unchecked. Passionately, leading to other things, a prelude to the main action.

Rey in his fantasies was always a wild thing, free and hard to tame, delicious to subdue, to devour and possess.

But recently, other images wormed their way into his sleepless nights and unbidden daydreams.

Tender moments, a sad sweetness. Slow, unhurried fucking that hardly even deserved the crude term.

A previously unknown longing, a dull aching _sentiment_ , born out of the misery of her shutting the connection rigorously after Crait.

The last time they saw each other, through the bond, he had kneeled before her.

Not quite in apology, but definately in regret.

He saw the pain he caused her, saw a mirroring regret at how everything turned out so _wrong_ after she came to him.

She came to _him_.

And then she turned him down.

And he saw the determination as she closed the door, and their bond.

Felt it, over the past months.

Felt the hollowness of the empty space inside him that was Rey.

And now they are together again in an uneasy truce, cramped into the Falcon.

Fantasized about a thousand times, in a thousand outcomes, but never like this.

Rey in reality is an entirely different creature than the one in his daydreams.

Wild and free, yes.

But also caring, easy to forgive.

Barbed-tongued and impulsive.

Compassionate and infuriating.

Fate – or the Force - decided to throw them in each other's path once more, made them talk to each other again.

So easy to talk to her.

So difficult.

So exasperating.

So... utterly _thrilling_.

She touched him.

Smiled at him.

Thought about kissing him.

Part of him, a big part, wanted to close the distance that very moment and just give her a taste. Satisfy her curiosity. Satisfy his own. Give in to his urges.

But there was also a part of him that demanded restraint.

That took notice of the brittle trust between them, that fragile little connection that she allowed to open up again.

Move too recklessly, and she would close it back down.

But...

Rey wondered what it was like to **kiss** him.

Maybe he should take charge? Show her? Show her how much he wanted this as well, how much he wanted _her_?

Indecision wars with determinations.

There had been some crossroads in his life before, decisions with great impact to be taken, and he always tried to navigate those with decisiveness and strength. Head on. Never backing down from a challenge. Never let himself be cowed by fear.

This is another of those crossroads. Be content with what they have right now? Or aim for more, as improbable as it previously seemed?

It wouldn't do to be rash and reckless now.

But it wouldn't do to appear uninterested either...

There's conflict in him, but for once, it's not at all related to the Force.

Maybe Rey is one of these women who like to be chased...?

He never cared for playing games, never really worked up more than mild interest for the fairer sex, leaving him woefully unprepared for _this_.

No, he decides, Rey is guileless. Open, brave, direct - even if she tends to lie to herself sometimes. She's not playing games.

He feels out the Bond for a hint. She closed it when she left the cockpit, but turmoil is whirling behind the wall, her energy restless and snapping.

Whatever just transpired between them, it didn't leave her cold.

He can't pinpoint whether there is also regret in that uncontrolable bundle of emotion on the other side of their connection, not without closer contact.

He makes up his mind and gets up.

The machine room is earily quiet in the absence of the Falcon's usual hum except for the occasional metallic clanks and rough muttered curses from behind the sublight engines.

Their bond buzzes with energy, so much clearer and vibrant now that she is close, drawing tight enough to leave him lightheaded. As if all five senses snap happily to attention, becoming more alive, more attuned to her.

He lingers at the door, unsure how welcome his entrance is.

„Rey...?“

A slight pause, then the clattering continues in the far end of the room. He doesn't dare to venture closer.

„The hyperdrive is done. I won't be able to fix this.“

She sounds both defeated and frustrated.

„Rey... I wanted to talk to you about...-“

„Do you understand what that means?!“

She just cuts him off, and there is a sharpness in her tone that could cut glass.

„We're screwed. We are both really equally screwed here. I don't have the parts to fix this. I need more tools, more resources... basically, _realistically_ , I'd need a brand new engine. An entire _engine._ Do you have any idea how much this would cost? When we hardly have the credits to buy fuel or food anymore??“

Her voice keeps rising and she wipes across her face angrily.

He just prays it's not tears.

There's ice forming below his ribcage, ice traveling up his spine, freezing him in place.

„Do you _understand._..? Either we come up with an idea real quick, or we'll float here in the middle of nowhere until we run out of water or air.“

Her temper snapping, she throws the wrench in her hand across the room with all her might. It leaves a dent in the far wall. He's just glad she didn't aim it at him...

„We'll think of something. Maybe we can get the sublight engine to work?“

He hopes he sounds supportive at least. Isn't there anything in the countless junkpiles littered across the ship that could work?

He trusts her judgement in these mechanical matters, and if Rey is freaking out, it must be bad.

There's an edge of desolation in her voice that feels like a punch to the gut.

„We need an energy source for it to jumpstart again. Do you have any convenient energy source lying around?“

Sarcasm tints Rey's usually sunny voice. This bitterness, this hardness in her is new. Have the past months really taken such a toll on her, made her so bitter? Of course, he is well aware about the role he played in this, his personal contribution to her misery.

But they are at war, a war he has been determined to finally fucking end at any cost.

 _Almost_ any cost that is.

Their bond satures with her fear, resentment and helpless anger, an oily dissonance snuffing out the ease they shared not long ago.

She get up and stomps towards him, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

He returns it calmly, silently, feeling the challenge in her gaze rise up.

„Then... we don't have a choice.“

She is collecting herself, wetting her lips nervously. Choice? What kind of choice?

He waits, curious what her plan might be. Clearly, she has some idea that she is reluctant to share with him. Rey is intelligent, and moreover, resourceful from her years of hardship on Jakku. He skims the boarders of her mind, but she's determined to keep him out. Interesting. What she said rang true, but it's not the full story. She is hiding something. Her fists clench at her sides.

She stares him down, an impressive feat being at least a head shorter, and gathers her nerves.

„You have to contact your mother.“

He gapes at her, stunned. Her voice ressonates inside his skull, as if she tried to use the Force to convince him. She didn't, and it would not have worked anyways. But Rey is blazing with conviction, trying to impart on him the urgency, the _gravity_ of their situation.

She must have gone mad.

The challenge in her gaze softens to a familiar expression, one that touched him deeply the very first time she looked at him like that, caught him by surprise. Another time, an elevator, huge, beseeching eyes. A name, old and forbidden. She tried to convince him to spare her, as if not sparing her was ever a choice...-

Her voice, now soft and... small rips him out of his reverie.

„Ben... You have to, there is no other way for us to survive this. Do you want us to die?“

He is still speechless. THAT is her plan? Contacting the ...general?

The idea alone is flooding him with white hot rage, a tidal wave so sudden and so powerful it nearly drags him under. Utter madness.

All he can do is grit out a single word through clenched teeth.

„No.“

„Then you need to contact her through the Force. I just tried, but I couldn't reach her, I don't know how, but you're more powerful, more skilled, you could...-“

She's babbling now.

He cuts her off.

„Rey, no.“

„Please Ben. What else can we do?“

Calling him his old name, appealing to something, _someone_ long dead and buried. She is trying to play him, and it enrages him beyond measure.

But in her desperation, the Bond cracks open a bit, and there is no guile on the other end, no subterfuge to manipulate him. This at least keeps his fury somewhat in check, keeps it from spilling over and morphing it into utter destruction. Every instinct inside is dictating him to give in, to throw something at the wall, to crush and destroy something.

But Rey is standing in front him, not cowing, not bowing under his furious demeanor.

„Please Ben, please...-“

„I will not contact her, forget about this.“

Rey's helplessness is turning into rage.

„You'd rather let us die here, end our lives in the middle of nowhere, choking on stale air?!

She's stalking towards him now, glaring up at him. He feels his hackles raise in return, her anger always the gasoline on his own fiery rage.

„It's not my fault you insist on travelling with such a broken fucking piece of junk SHIT! I offered you the galaxy, and you chose _this_ instead. _“_

He waves a wide arm at the engines, at this whole mess, trying to hide with sarcasm how much her rejection still hurts.

Rey is poucing on it like a shark sensing blood. There she is, the darker side of her. Uncontrolled, aggressive, _fierce_. The only person in the galaxy where losing feels just as thrilling as winning.

„So in turn, you'd rather let us die now with a whimper instead of getting over your damned pride for once and ask for help?!“

He can't help it, he has to laugh. It's a dry, husky thing, mirthless and cutting.

„It's not a matter of pride, _sweetheart._ “ His grin is too toothy to be considered anything like _nice._ „SHE cut ME off years ago.“

Ray keeps glaring up at him, hands on her hips, eyes blazing with rightous fury.

„Well have you even tried? I'm sure she'd...-“

„I'm sure she'd _relish_ at the chance of finally ridding the galaxy of me.“

His voice is dripping venom.

„You're wrong, your mother misses you, she'd...-“

„YOU have no idea what SHE is like!“

He's shouting now, livid, no longer able to keep himself in check.

„You've known her for WHAT, a couple of months now?“

He is invading her private space, staring her down, his voice low and menancing.

„Let me tell you this, _sweetheart_ , and for once, really _listen_. You don't know _shit_ about her. My _mother_ ...“ - the word almost chokes him in his outrage - „...would sacrifice anything and _anyone_ for her cause. Even you, even her priced little _Jedi._ You're nothing more than a weapon against me. Is that why she send you alone? To lure me in? She wouldn't think twice about letting you rot and die if it meant to score against me.“

Rey shrinks back, swallowing hard.

„You're... you're wrong.“

The Force is howling around them, a thunderstorm in the blackest night, its dark melody hypnotic and sparking. It does something to him, and it certainly does something to her.

He presses on, taking a step even closer to her.

„No I'm not, and you know it. That woman is driven by lofty ideals and political agenda above all else. Don't trust her. YOU keep searching for your parents everywhere, seek belonging anywhere where you can find it.“

Huge eyes peer into his, a silent plea to stop. There are tears, threathening to spill over, but he's too far gone. The darkness that spurned him not too long ago is now eager, egging him on.

„You let people manipulate you for it. I keep telling you, and you're not listening: It's your greatest _weakness._ “

He hisses the last word, his fury clawing at his reason, replacing rational thought and the darkness inside him roars in triumph, enveloping him back into its spiteful arms.

It's familiar, a dark desolate home.

The only home he'd ever know.

Rey's eyes turn glassly, her lips pressing together, chin wobbly.

But she's refusing to back down, refusing to let the tears fall.

He can almost smell them in the air, part of him horrified, part of him refusing to back down as well, retreating deeper into the well-known territory his own temper instead. Fight or flight – fighting is always the better alternative.

Rey studies him, watery eyes stabbing him wordlessly, a silent gutpunch. Her signature in the Force is blazing with something, something unidentifyable and alien. She's debating something, intensely, and the moment she makes up her mind, he is almost afraid of her.

„Can you create this Sith lighting?“

Oh for fuck's sake...

„How many times do I have to tell you this, I am not a fucking SITH!“

„Then hand me your lightsaber.“

Wobbly chin jutting out, nostrils flaring, Rey is a picture of fierce determination.

He's caught wrong-footed again by her newest zig-zag. This entire conversation derailed massively – only Rey manages that. Everyone else in his life is either to weak, too stupid or too careful to provoke him like this.

The answer comes automatic, without any conscious thought.

„No!“  
  


Rey is breathing heavily, as if she herself is barely hanging on now.

„Give it to me! Maybe we can use the Kyber to jumpstart the sublight engine!“

He's gaping, again, at her vehement demand.

Their bond is closed, tightly closed, and again, she is keeping something from him. He can sense it, murky, duplicitous, behind that wall that she hides from him. Rey, Rey, Rey... what is she planning now. He's taking a slow step to the side, starting to subtly circle her. She is falling into a counterstep, a subconscious reaction, borne out of muscle memories from past times.

„No.“

The one word is the spark to her tinder and her rage crashes through their bond, almost knocking him off his feet. His own rises in response, his fingertips prickling with adrenaline, and this, finally, is known territory for them both. With an animalistic roar, she is lunging herself at him, silmultaneously reaching for his saber with the Force.

He has a splitsecond to exert his own will, to subdue her grasp through the Force, before she collides with him and they stumble to the floor.

He ducks a punch to his chin, rolling them over, but a knee to his kidney knocks the breath out of him for a second.

She is drawing on her anger again, teeth bared and jaw clenched, and fighting him fiercely, hitting, kicking, scratching him whereever she can reach. He's drinking in the wild beauty of her, her unbowing resolution, her conviction that burns in her eyes.

The Bond is a roaring hurricane, and they are the eye of the storm. Their strength matches, cermenting her once more as his equal in the Force, and what advantage he has in a larger build and heavier weight, she makes up in agility and sheer determination. They are battling for domination, rolling over the floor and she grabs a fistful of his _hair_ and yanks it back hard.

Rey, Jakku trained, Jakku hardened, fights _dirty._

The odd pain distracts him for a second and she is using the opening to reach for his saber and rip it off his belt. He retaliates and uses his body weight to roll on top to subdue her with his larger frame, grabbing the fist clenching the saber and smashing it to the floor in an attempt to break it free again.

But the moment their fists connect over his saber, the Force explodes around them.

Raw, unsettled energy rips through the engine room, an unholy storm unleashed by their roiling, dark emotions.

Her eyes widen in shock, mirroring his own.

And then... the visions start.

**The darkest night, surrounded by the knights of Ren, the only source of light the eery glow of their vibro-weapons.**

**Both of them fighting in a destroyed room, reeking of seawater and rot and decay in the twilight.**

**An exploding star, billions of lives lost, souls shattering into the tiniest cosmic pieces.**

**Him, holding her, cradling her close like she is made out of glas, their grey robes tattered and worn.**

**A rocky desert, hungry predators circling high above, waiting for their opening.**

**A red thread, a maze underneath an ancient castle.**

**A dark forrest, and both of them together on ground, frantic, writhing, _naked._**

Their eyes meet in shock. The vision keeps them frozen, hurling images at them in ever increasing speed and vibrancy.

The dark Force shapes their connection into a rope, tightening it with each vision. A noose, wrapping around their necks, choking them both, drawing them closer and closer.

**A peaceful green meadow, a soft breeze carrying over the mist of closeby waterfalls.**

**Darkness, lurking behind a rough, uneven looking glass.**

**The miserable cry of a newborn child, exposed to the world outside for the first time.**

**A colourful festival of sorts, people everywhere, celebrating, dancing, handing out primitive necklaces.**

**A battleground, so many dead, bodies around them but Rey is still standing underneath a double moon, still breathing, and that is all that counts.**

**A transporter, airbrone, exploding through a lighting bolt into a million pieces.**

**A cave, a flickering fire, and there is blood, a lot of blood, but Rey is sitting astride of him, _riding_ him, frantically. **

His mouth runs dry. This is not one borne out of his own fantasies. Neither does is come from Rey. She lies stockstill under him, mouth open, gaping helplessly.

The Force is binding them, weaving a net around them that keeps the galaxy outside at bay.

In their trance like state, his breathing quickens, his mind screaming to let her go, his body not obeying. He stares into her eyes and she is panting. There is an uncharted depth in them, a new territory of _heat._

**The throne room, the red armour of the Praetorian guards shining in firelight, the stench of blood and cauterized skin and burning fabric in the air.**

**Another throne room, this one dark and foreboding, and a deceptively diminutive figure sitting majestically in its center, hidden in a black cape.**

He swallows. It's Rey.... and it's not Rey.

The force is a heartbeat between them, strong and steady, and ever increasing. Every cell in his body is focused lasersharp on the woman under him.

**Her features sharp, eyes hardened, she smiles a cruel, knowing smile, so unlike her own, beckons him closer from her throne. A sinful, shadowy goddess granting him an audience. He draws closer, unable to resist, unable to take his eyes off of her for a second, unable to ever say no to her. Triumph blazes through her eyes, and she lifts her chin haughtily. Then she parts her legs, ever so slowly, deliberately, and his mouth runs dry. Underneath her cape, she is completely naked, and the parting cape reveals her shape and curves to his hungry view. He does not mistake this as an offering. Her eyes blaze with unholy command. It is his place to worship her, as he was always meant to be, and he falls helplessly, reverently to his knees in front of her throne, his hands spreading her thighs even wider, his head bowing in deference, bowing to serve his master -**

Lust explodes in him violently, incinerates any reason, scorches his mind.

His dick _throbs._

_Darkness spills over._

Rey is lying under him, flushing from her forehead down over her clavicles to where the shirt, that fucking shirt, hides her skin from him.

He wants to rip it off.

He wants to rip if off and chase the revealed skin with this tongue.

And his teeth.

He can't help it, he starts to pant, staring down at her.

They are caught in the middle of this storm, the ship, the stars, the endless vacuum around them, everything ceases to exist.

He is not Kylo, and he is not Ben.

She is not Rey.

They are something else, something powerful and ancient.

The Force pulses around them, dark, eternal and alive.

Completely enthralled, he couldn't turn away from her even if he wanted to.

He wants to do any depraved thing with her that he ever imagined, wants to desecrate and worship, but with that last shred of reason, he lowers his head, deliberately, ever so slowly, to not spook her with that flaming red hot intensity, to give her every chance to turn away. Rey is panting too, her ribcage rising and falling rapidly, so hard their chests are almost touching on every inhale. He can't help it, he is powerless against this onslaught or vision and images and _her._ She's frowning, her mouth open, shaped around a soundless moan. Every muscle in his body is strained beyond limit, keeping him still, so still to wait on her command to either go on or leave her be.

Her gaze is destroying him, obliterating any thought in his mind. Her pupils are blown wide, the warm sunny hazel gone, her eyes the purest, unnatural black. He is so beyond aroused it's almost painful.

She is begging him to do something, anything, scared and determined and he has no idea what she wants. Bewitched by the darkness around them, she is desperate.

Then, then...

Rey rolls up her hips, experimentally, against his own.

The moment they _touch_ , it's over.

Past the point of no return, he groans, loudly, drowning out her answering throaty moan. The pressure against his dick the single most exquisite thing he ever felt.

He is rock hard, and the second she _rubs_ herself against him, he knows, he knows that it's no longer a matter of if, but rather _when_ he will just come in his pants.

He leans down to kiss her, to finally lay claim to her lips, but she turns away and moans, deep in her throat, so he attacks her slender neck instead, rutting artlessly, needily against her. There, he must have found her sweet spot, because Rey's groans, vocal, primal and utterly uninhibited. He locks it away to examine it in the future and focuses every single still working braincell on getting her enough friction, enough pressure to coax that sound from her again and again. He has never heard anything more precious in his entire miserable existance.

Her head is thrown back, eyes closed, her sounds turn animalistic, and _loud._

He will not come before her. He will not.

He has always been able to hold something back from his partners, to keep himself distanced in a way. Aloof. In control.

But Rey sucked him in, reeled him closer as if she was the predator and he was the bait.

Unacceptable.

Yet there is intimacy there, an alien emotion he never ever allowed to come into existance before.

And Rey doesn't even know.

She doesn't even do it on purpose.

She acted purely on instinct, assuming this was the natural state, the natural flow.

And it is.

Between them, there could never be any distance.

He is drawn to her light like a moth to the fucking flame.

Helpless in her onslaught.

Powerless at her earnestness.

Completely at her mercy in her innocence.

Something stirred inside him, she stirred it. Something primal, neither light nor dark, something more ancient, beyond such demarcations.

The urge to conquer and claim.

To possess and protect.

How she could raise such conflicting urges in him, without calculation or shrewdness, or subterfuge...

They have a rhythm now, a pacing practiced over and over in their dance on the battlefield, now revealing its true purpose. Everything clicks in place, and the Force is cocooning them in a rush of power, in a web that seperates reality from this, creates its own reality, one where there is only him and her and THEM, and a hypnotic bump and grind as ancient as the living Force in the universe.

He can feel how wet she is through his pants, the thought dizzying, surreal. She is panting heavily now, rasping for air, one fist still clenching the saber, the other burried in his hair.

The scratches of her nails against his scalp fire white hot straight down his spine, bringing him so close...-

There are no more walls between them, nothing to keep them from each other.

Her mind is consumed by a single thought.

**Don't stop-**

**Don't stop-**

**Don'tstopdon'tstop...-**

Her legs draw up around his hips, changing their angle, drawing her impossibly nearer. Heat liquifies his thoughts and pools into the base of his spine, and he's close, so dangerously tethering on the edge, desperately increasing the pressure, the pace.

She is keening underneath him, caging him in, urging him on.

**Don't stop!**

She is close now too...

His mouth travels further south, over her bony clavicle to her chest, marking his path with bitemarks and dark bruises and she is so much shorter than him that he had to bend awkwardly at the waist to reach his goal.

Then he finds her small breast, her nipple impossibly hard underneath the shirt, and he draws it between his teeth, sucking _hard_ through the thin cloth.

Rey whines, wheezing for air, the grip on his hair turning painful.

The Force rises to a deafening crescendo, archaic, overwhelming, _vast._

He's so close that it hurts.

Desperate not to finish before her, he pushes through their Bond to _let go,_ to trust him in this, to let him catch her.

Rey...-

Her breath hitches and then Rey finally screams, her back bowing off the floor, pushing her breast even deeper into his mouth.

Rey...-

The galaxy shrinks to nothingness, shrinks down to a single writhing woman and then whites out and he comes and comes, hard, long, pressed painfully against her, their fists connected in their whiteknuckled grip over his saber.

A minute or an hour later, realisation dawns on him, terrifying and true.

She exists, and he bends.

She breathes, he kneels.

Whatever fight they ever had, he lost it now. For good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello folks *waves shyly*  
> sorry for being MIA for a while, Corona has my country in its nasty grip and it fucking sucks. Had to reorganize my entire life around this lockdown, so there was no energy or creative juice left for this... thing. But I'm settling into a new routine (homeoffice!) and ... surprise... channeling your frustrations over this shit is actually therapeutic. (sorry it's a bit... ahem... dark, at least it's longer?)  
> Hope everyone is safe and healthy! Take good care of yourselves and as always, feel free to yell at me in the comments. (I <3 your yelling)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Act II - let's call it the aftermath?

Shockwaves.

That's the closest comparison her mind can come up with.

Lightning.

Electricity coursing through her body, similar to touching a life wire, shortcircuiting her brain.

Frying all of her nerve endings at once, making her feel like dying and living all at once, the intensity surpassing any frame of reference.

She is floating on the cold metal floor of the engine room, floating on a cloud of incredulity, shock and a bone deep satiation.

Still tingling all over, still breathless, long after the _pulsing_ wound down, the wet patch on her shirt cooling over her breast.

They are both entangled, struggling for air, her on her back, him curling his big body around hers, his forehead at her sweaty temple, arms pressing her against him.

Being held like this, cradled into strong, firm arms, to another body, strong and solid, feels so new, so good, so _right._

The recycled air smells like them.

Insane.

She must have gone insane.

Her body, her mind are cushioned in white clouds, a delicious, satisfied heaviness and she's trying to gather herself, but for once in her life, that sense of urgency, the restless drive to go out and do things and _survive_ is drowned out.

Rey stares at the ceiling, trying to wrap her head around it all, but failing.

„What... what was that?“

Her voice comes out low, and shaky, and a little husky.

So unlike what she usually sounds like.

Fundamentally _changed_.

He shifts, his lips move lazily against her temple as he answers, and she shivers with the memory of how they felt against her throat.

How his stubble prickled on her neck.

How his moans ressonated against her skin.

How his teeth felt on...-

„Pretty fucking spectacular I'd say...“

His voice is pitched even lower, rumblier than usual and he sounds a little... dazed, the words slow and slurry.

She is flushing all over. Surely she must be beetred in the face now?

They both speak in low volume, an unspoken agreement to not burst the bubble around them, the overwhelming sense of _rightness_ that is cocooning them.

She tries again, flustered, tries to sound stern, tries to make sense of what just occured between them.

„No... I mean _yes_... but I mean... what happened...?“

He's mumbling something against her hairline, something that sounds suspiciously like _I don't care._

He radiates such an overpowering cocktail of calm and happiness that she can't help but close her eyes and curl herself into his chest, hiding her face, vanish from the world, vanish from her responsibilities, just for a moment longer.

For a change, his mind is quiet, too.

The restless energy, the tug of war of his thoughts is dimmed down to nothing.

She saw it when he let her heal him. The depth and quality of his pain, the scars on his soul, the deep routed loneliness of a life that is hardly more than existing.

His arms circle her even tighter, drawing her flush against him and he tangles their legs, to bring them as close as possible.

This, more than anything that happened just a moment ago, unnerves her.

Something irrevocably changed between them.

The intimate insight of knowing each other when they fall apart.

A mystery, a secret revealed, never to be taken back again.

They have been under each other's skin.

A monumental shift.

She never let anyone ever get so _close._

Their Bond is ablaze with contentment, a lowkey, deep routed delight, tuning everything else out. Lulling them into a honeyed, languid, strange peace.

She rubs her face against his tunic, breathing in deeply, committing his scent to memory.

For a moment, she regrets that they are still clothed, imagines how it would feel to be skin-to-skin now, to be cradled protectively against his naked chest.

Amusement spikes through their bond, and he drops his lips to the crown of her head, mumbling a very low, very quiet ' _That can be arranged..._ ' against it.

Her face heats up even more.

She sends him a mental message, aiming for serious, but ending up with rather flustered.

_Stay out of my head!_

„I can't help it, you think so _loud_...“

Now _he_ is thinking about it, too, and the images leave her a little breathless.

Their bond changed as well, transmitting much clearer, stronger now.

Much more vibrant.

A big hand travels from her waist to her hip, stopping just north of butt, drawing her hips even closer.

She freezes.

It's overwhelming, and a little frightening.

Unprepared for the intensity, she is lost, intimidated by how quickly, explosively things escalated from being mortal enemies to suddenly... _this_.

The intimacy they just shared is completely novel to her.

Life on Jakku provided her some sloppy kisses with a boy, a fellow scavenger when she was in her teens, more out of curiosity than desire. Some clumsy, inexperienced fumbling over dusty clothes in the sand, but never, _ever_ something, anything on that scale.

That burned brighter than the Jakku sun on the dessert sands.

That melted her insides in a heat that reforged her entire being.

That taught her a bottomless hunger like she never knew before.

The magnitude of what she just did starts to sink in.

The implications are alarming.

Something had compelled her, had lured her in to follow her baser instincts.

It resulted in cracks in her walls, openings for someone else to sneak inside, to rummage around, and take possession.

Life on Jakku certainly did not prepare her for this. Neither did Luke's Jedi teaching. Or her time with the resistance.

No... this is personal. Incredibly personal.

Whatever happened with the Force, whatever visions had ripped them off their feet, in the end, it was him and her. Man and woman.

She tests the word - woman - and finds that it fits better somehow. Too old to be a girl, too inexperienced to be considered a woman.

Still, what they had, what they _shared_... it was definately the most intimate thing she ever shared with anyone.

The most mindblowing one, as well.

And she shared it with the current ruler of the galaxy.

A mass murderer.

The man she considered a while ago her mortal enemy.

The man that came to save her.

The man that can so easily slip past her defenses.

The man who...-

She can't help but feel invaded in a way.

And vulnerable, ... and a little scared.

She must be transmitting again, because he freezes as well and in the stillness she can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest.

There's a completely chaotic tangle of emotions raging through him at the moment, too, from brimming satisfaction to unrestrained joy, some pride, and a strong possessiveness of being her _first,_ triumph but also boundless awe, a fair share of alarm, and a careful tenderness.

His feelings, this thoughts are as solid and clear as her own now, in such close proximity.

Their Bond both a blanket and a shackle.

In the stillness of the room, their breaths the only sound, she feels something like panic rising in him.

He's wondering whether they moved too fast, whether he was too rough, whether she regrets what happened...

They were both swept up in something out of their control.

She shallows.

The inside of his head has always been dangerous territory. She retreats hastily.

The big hand on her hip glides back up to her waist, giving her a gentle squeeze.

The other cradles the base of her skull, angling her face towards him and placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

She closes her eyes, breathing deeply.

It feels almost like an apology, and a promise.

Suddenly, it's all too much.

Her throat closes and there's pressure behind her eyes.

What did she _do?_

She needs distance.

Swallowing down the choking feeling, she's untangling herself and sits up.

He sighs behind her, sitting up as well, rubbing a hand over his face.

Then he leans over and hands her his saber.

„Here, take it.“

She looks at him in surprise.

This, as well, is an apology.

She takes his saber, wordlessly, and turns it in her hands. It's heavier than Luke's, the design rough and arachic. The Force hums around them, and she can feel the raw power of his crystal inside ressonating with it.

She holds it away from them, igniting the weapon. It glows unevenly in the dim light of the engine room, spitting furious sparks, its unstable, frantic energy making it harder to handle than the calm, controlled laser of Luke's saber. The uneven pull of the blade requires more strength to keep it even, the vibrations twinge in her right shoulder, tiring her muscles quickly. She wills the Force to the surface, to help her stabilize and the Force complies immediately to subdue it.

She regards the blade mesmerized, remembering how it felt when she wielded briefly it in Snoke's throne room. Deadly. Unchecked. Powerful. Ben had _let_ her call it she realizes now.

It will be a pity to dismantle such a masterpiece...-

„If you think you can use it to save us, go ahead.“

The implied _I trust you_ lingers between the words, hangs heavy and meaningful in the air between them.

She looks at him, the sparks of the saber reflecting in his dark eyes, giving him an unnatural glow.

If he feels any regret to let go of his weapon, it doesn't show. All his eyes are filled with is resolve and faith in her.

She swallows and nods, clicking off the switch.

His gaze falls to her hands, to the split skin of her knuckles where he smashed her fist into the floor to free his saber.

He reaches out and slowly, tenderly, ghosts his thumb over the red angry patches.

His eyes find hers again, and he doesn't say _I'm sorry I hurt you_ or _I'm sorry I was such a dick_.

And hers don't say _I'm sorry I lost my temper and attacked you_.

They stare at each other silently for long moment, and there is a hidden depth of insecurity and... warmth in his eyes, a new quality to them.

The cracks in his walls are new as well.

Rey breaks it off first and gets up, walking to the improvised work bench where she keeps a good stock of tools to work on the Falcon.

Turning her back to him, she needs something to _do,_ to focus her mind on not going completely crazy. She turns to the saber, reaching for the precision tools to dismantle the casing.

„Thank you. I'll take a look and see what I can do.“

He's getting up as well, judging from the rustling, he's straightening his clothes. Her hands are shaking a little, and she hides it with busying herself with the tools.

„I... uh... I'll go take a shower...-“

He sounds unsure., fidgeting at the door.

Her face heats back up, and, glad that he can't see her, just nods helplessly.

It's only long after he left the room, and she can hear the rattling of the sonic shower, that she lets out a breath of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made it through the first third of this story, yippie!
> 
> This chapter was actually much longer, but I thought I'll break it off here so you guys don't have to wait around for the rest. Aaand I might switch POV, let's see if Benny behaves himself.
> 
> Speaking of which, did I break him? Is he a cuddler, IS HE?? Damnit...


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo's showering... again.

He's an idiot.

The biggest fucking idiot in the entire galaxy.

For the second time today, he's standing under the fine spray of the shower.

For the second time, slightly disorientated, and wondering how the fuck he ended up like this.

He knows to trust the Force.

Was trained his entire life, by all of his mentors and masters, to do so.

One master had taught him to heed his instincts, and one to heed his impulses.

Their teachings seemed so similiar in the beginning, the difference between instinct and impulse fuzzy and inconsequential in his younger years.

Yet, he had come to learn difference.

Following his impulse with Rey was not the smartest move.

With her... it is always both. Always more.

Rey, for him, is instinct, impulse - a basic necessity like water or food or air.

His mind yearns for conversations with her, learning her. Learning her tells, her wit and her unique insights. She is misguided often, yes, but she is also smart. With the right guidance, she could become so much more.

His body craves her. Has craved her for a very long time – maybe even on Takodana. He never considered himself a particular a gentleman with women, although he does try to avoid being unnecessarily cruel to them when he can – but knocking her out and carrying her around was not really his style either.

And after she starting fighting him, dancing across a snowy forrest floor, this rough, uneducated _girl...._ he felt the undeniable pull between them, and it transformed later into more and more crude fantasies.

He stares at the old, cracked tiles and longs for a real shower. The too fine spray of the sonic shower is unsatisfying, the gurgling of the water treatment unit worryingly loud and unsteady. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

His entire _being_ longs for her, every cell within him snapping into attention when she is close, every strand of his Force signature alive and vibrant when he feels her across their connection. He doesn't understand their Bond, just like he so often doesn't understand the Force, but this one aspect has always felt so right, so natural that he knows with every fiber of his being that whereever his path takes him, Rey is a part of it.

And it's not the Force either. It's a part of this, sure... but it's not where his hunger comes from. He met other Force users, even fucked one years ago, but never felt such a pull, such an all consuming need for another.

No, with Rey... it's beyond... _anything._

So a smart man would do anything to keep her at his side.

Accept what she's willing to give, gracefully.

Offer her what she wants in return.

Keep her appeased, and interested.

The moment he stepped onto the Falcon again, he lost his footing. Teaching her might not have been the smartest idea, but it had been an exquisite experience. Stepping back onto the light side had unbalanced him in a way he hadn't forseen. It had unleashed something in the Force that felt wild and unpredictable. Unreliable.

Not only in him, but also within Rey.

She acted on impulse, that much he is certain on. Rey never ever harboured any particular _carnal_ thoughts about him - or about anyone else either, at least as far as he witnessed. It must have been a spur of the moment thing, born out of the maelstrom of the Force vision and curiosity.

And like an utter idiot, he pounced on the very first opening she gave him and just followed his own desperate impulses.

Slobbered all over her.

Just took what he wanted, desperately needed that very moment.

If he had to pinpoint it, he'd catalogue the strange bitterness rising up as... _shame._ An old emotion, burried and forgotten, making an unwelcome reappearance. He failed her. Rey deserves better, not some fucked up fumbling and rutting on the floor.

She had wanted distance afterwards, he felt it as clearly as if the need was his own. And it wasn't, much rather the opposite. Holding Rey in his arms has appealed to something inside him that he can't name.

He has fantasized plenty about it, about them, together, _fucking._

Her spitfire transforming her into a confident, wild seductress, straight out of a dirty holovid.

The _after_ was never any part of that.

The concept utterly abstract, unrealistic, so he wasn't prepared, didn't dream of ever getting so close to Rey...

Reality doesn't even slightly compare.

Her withdrawl hurts.

Another unwelcome emotion, although this one a familiar companion in the last months after Crait. Its return a sharp, acute stab rather than the usual dull aching.

But now they were... something. Does she regret it, lying under him, wrapped around him, letting go, being swept up in this? Does she regret how close, how _right_ it felt to come together like this?

At the very least, he got her off as well.

But there was very little finesse involved.

He should have made a fucking effort, should have gone down on her properly at least.

Give her something to remember.

Should have been sweet, and slow.

 _Patient_.

Should have tried to leave an impression, leave her craving more.

Instead, he acted like a teenager, touching a girl for the very first time, getting too excited, losing complete control AND making a fool of himself.

Bracing his hands against the tiles, he hangs his head between his shoulders, the fine mist slicking his hair against his neck, face...

He has never been so aroused in his whole life.

Never came that hard either.

He could still feel the phantom ache in his balls, the borderline painful orgasm rocking through him strong enough to almost knock him out.

He grits his teeth, fighting down his erection, again.

He wants to fight her and fuck her.

To cherish and worship to her.

He has been a fool to think he could do this and not be forever altered.

Reckless and stupid to not calculate so far ahead.

He wants to fuck her, really badly so, now more than ever.

Wanted to for a very long time.

Wanted it so bad that he briefly considered taking another lover a while ago, just to take the edge off.

He didn't.

Noone managed to catch his interest.

And he couldn't trust anyone enough to just take them to bed anymore.

Couldn't stomach to visit a brothel either.

Didn't dare to in case their connection would open in just the most inopportune moment.

With every rotten thing he did, somehow, this was a line he didn't want to cross with Rey.

Besides, his need was a very, very specific one.

She had been very flustered when she caught him that one night getting ready for bed.

He had enjoyed her embarassment tremendously, used her unbalance to needle her, all the while wondering if she liked what she saw.

He had been wondering then what kind of history she had, with men.

She lived a hard, lonely life on Jakku.

He saw it when he first entered her mind, when she entered his in retaliation.

Yet still she managed to live off her intelligence, and her capabilities, instead of ending on her back in the skin trade like most.

And then, when she joined the resistance, what kind of life did she have there? Did she take a lover?

Now he knows.

Her wonder at falling apart with someone, her inability to formulate her needs specifically gave her away.

Her thoughts afterwards confirmed it.

He is her first.

And fuck, that _knowledge_ does something to him, appeals to a very primal, purely male part in him.

It shouldn't matter.

But it turns him on tremenduously.

That she is _his_ to educate, his to take, his to fuck.

_His._

He's fighting down his erection again, willing it to go away.

The things he could teach her...

It wouldn't take much to get off now, again, and he briefly considers giving in... but the danger that their Bond might reopen just now and Rey might _see_ him like this, might make her think that she was not enough for him, kills the impulse.

No, he needs to be smarter around her.

He grits his teeth and turns the shower, _again_ , all the way to icecold.

He washed his clothes in the sink before he showered.

It was starting to become gross after days in the same shirt and trousers. And now, after what they did, it became downright uncomfortable.

The towel, the only towel, is still damp from when Rey used it.

He rubs his face with it, inhaling deep. Disappointingly, it only smells like the bland cheap soap in the shower. At least they smell the same now.

He imagines her then, in the shower, with him. Slowly washing her curves. Hands gliding over her soapy skin, over her pert little tits, giving them some proper attention this time.

Gliding over her ass, massaging it slowly.

Gliding over her secret places, making her moan, kissing away the throaty sounds...

He grips the sink tight, shutting the thoughts down.

Better he waits in the fresher until his clothes are dry before facing Rey again.

He studies his reflection, and he doesn't know the man staring back. The image in mirror looks like a stranger...-

There is a sudden noise from the machine room, a rumbling sound and then, a spike in their Bond.

He doesn't think, he just grabs the towel and slings it around his hips hastily, nearly losing his balance and slipping on the metal hallway, rushing back to Rey.

She's sprawled on her butt on the floor, looking a little dazed, holding parts of his dismantled saber.

Not acknowledging him entering at all. Instead, she stares transfixed at the kyber in her hand.

It emits a slight, flickering glow, and he can hear the faint hum of the energy inside, resonating with his own in the Force.

„It... it whispers to me.“

She sounds bewildered, her thoughts racing in wonder.

Relief floods him.

„Rey... are you ok? What happened?“

She turns to him slowly, as if unwilling to turn her gaze away from the kyber.

Then she spots him at the door, blushing furiously, and averting her eyes quickly.

„Can you put something on please?“

What a deja vu.

Only this time, there's no amusement to be found in this situation.

„I washed my stuff.“

Rey' shoulders stiffen. He hurries to clarify.

„I mean my clothes.“

His ears start to burn.

Rey shakes herself, and he can practically see her thoughts, wandering over his towel clad body, panicing, imaging him wearing... nothing? Imaginging him wearning the towel. Imaginig him throwing on his cowl, with nothing underneath...-

He takes pity on her, steering her back to the issue at hand.

„What happened Rey?“

„I was dismantling the saber, but then there was some sort of short-circuit? How the hell did you manage not to blow youself up with this thing? It was very unstable...“

She trails off, fixing back onto the kyber.

„Can you hear that?“

She sounds ok, although a bit baffled. He's puzzled by her reaction, but even more so by his Kyber reacting to her.

„Yes. Although I wonder why you can hear it, too. A kyber is atuned to their owner, the connection unique. You shouldn't be able to do that.“

„Luke's saber never whispered to me.“

He winces slightly at the name, hurrying to cut of this line of conversation.

„Because it was Vader's saber to begin with. It was atuned to him.“

She looks at him then, and again, it feels like she is effortlessly bypassing his walls, going straight for the hidden parts, deep inside him. In their proximity, her thoughts are as clear to him as are his own, and he can't tell whether she consciously wants him to hear this.

_That's why you wanted it so desperately..._

Sadness tinges their Bond, as it always does whenever his past, and their differences, come up.

„The kyber... it feels... hurt, torn somehow. Can you make out what it says?“

He shakes his head silently. It never really _whispered_ to him before. When he first found it, when he constructed his saber, he felt the beckoning, but the call had been wordless, a pull in the Force specific to him and his energy.

„No, to me, it simply... hums.“

„Why? Why does it feel the way it does?“  
  


„I don't know why you can hear it. But what you feel are probably the effects after I bled it.“

She stares at him, a wordless plea to continue.

Her eyes look huge, and so innocent. Once more he is struck by her expressive face, so open despite her hard upbringing. Her worry creasing her brows. The tightness in her lips, the tension in her jaw.

He suppresses a sigh, not really wanting to go down this particular tangent, but then, he can't refuse her anything.

„When you use the dark side of the Force, and you already have a crystal, you need to make it... submit to you.“

He's struggling to find the right words to describe this, without riling her up again.

„Submit? How?“

„You channel your emotion through it, to attune it to your dark side use.“

He bites the end of the sentence off, to prevent further questioning.

„...It's cracked.“

Again, there's a tide of sadness rising from Rey, some misguided pity at his past. He hates it.

Her pity always makes him defensive, always stiring up the need to justify himself in a way. He really should drop this subject, but the urge to keep the last word makes him continue anyways.

„It doesn't have to be all negative emotions. Just strong ones.“

„Like what?“

„Like... passion for example.“

Now it's her spine that stiffens all the way. A calculated reaction, one to encourage to drop the subject. She's very consciously not looking at him, but the thoughts in their Bond are mingling, unbidden, overlapping from both of them now, images of their tumble on the floor, her head thrown back, his hair wild, a blush crawling down her chest underneath that ridiculous shirt, his face a picture of burning heat...-

„Yes, exactly like that.“

His voice is low, and little dangerous.

The air in the room grows thick and saturated.

She swallows, hard, still refusing to look at him.

It shuts her up effectively, a blush tinting her cheeks.

He takes pity on her, steering the conversation away to safer topics.

„So, will you be able to use it? To fix the engine?“

She tears her thoughts away from the images in their Bond, reluctantly, and weighs her answer.

„I think, yes. I have to try. Although it's cracked.“

She looks down at the kyber, cradling it carefully like a small wounded animal.

„I don't know if I need to stabilize it so it won't break...“

Rey seems to be terribly hung up on the damaged crystal. He doesn't understand why exactly, doesn't mention what exactly cracked it, not in the mood to go down that particular road.

Instead, he's resolutely locking these memories away, to avoid alerting Rey to them.

She doesn't appear to listen in, her focus back on the ship and its inner workings.

„Even if I manage to jumpstart the engine, our fuel resources are limited. And we have no navigation system, so where should we go? We need air, and water, and food...“

He closes his eyes in answer, opening himself wide to the Force.

Rey's signature, blazing bright, her light calling out to his own.

Emptiness around them, the endless vacuum and the distant stars.

He stills himself, sinking deeper into the Force.

A cold dark lake, swallowing him up, deeper, deeper.

He focuses harder, looking for life forms outside their ship.

He feels the signature of other Force sensitives in the galaxy, all of them connected.

Finds his knights easily. They are divided into two teams at the moment, countless systems away, unreachable, their presence a dark flicker in the all encompassing web that is the Force. Are they searching for him?

More faint glowing dots, undiscovered Force sensitives, distant, but a part of the whole.

He dives even deeper, into the dark, silent waters, dimly aware of another bright presence, lightyears from them, one he is always very careful to avoid.

The hum of the auxiliary systems of the Falcon vanishes, and reluctantly, he tunes out Rey's presence in their connection as well.

Silence.

The emptiness, cold and lethal.

Distant planets...

He throws out a hand, concentrating harder, trying to feel the Force rather than mentally examining it.

A very faint warmth, so far away, but on a planet in their system, teeming with live, the Force pulsing on it, a vivid web connecting all beings on it. He can't tell if there are humanoid inhabitants, or even sentinent ones, but at the very least, its environment not deadly to Rey and him.

He returns to the surface, opens his eyes again, back to the here and now. Rey stares at him, and this time, she doesn't even seem to be aware of his state of undress. She sounds awed.

„That was... I could _feel_ you do that.“

„There is a planet in this system where we could land. Do you think the fuel will be enough?“

She's contemplating this, and finally nods.

„If it's in this system, it should be ok.“

Hope blooms in her, transforming her entire face. Her creased brows smooth out, her eyes shine with renewed energy.

She smiles at him.

It makes him feel weak, and unbalanced.

It makes no sense.

It makes perfect sense.

Somewhere down the road... Rey became his sense, his purpose.

Selfpreservation is fortifying his defenses, and he locks that train of thought tightly away.

Rey could destroy him with only a look, only a smile.

She must never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to all of you who celebrate Easter or enjoy the days off!
> 
> Had a work week from hell that ate up all my time and creativity, argh.  
> At least I have a couple of days off now:)  
> Wanted to come much further in this chapter, but needed a long time to decide whether to dive into Benny's head or Rey's.  
> Good news, next chapter is already half written. Really struggled to find a decent cutoff point, but better to throw something out now than make you wait even longer, right? We're FIXING the ship you guys, finally!! ... *hides*
> 
> Thanks for all the love for the last chapter, you all rock so hard <3 <3 <3  
> Hope you are all doing ok, and being safe!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happening:  
> Rey is fixing the ship.

Back in his clothes, it's damp and cool and uncomfortable, as they take a longer time to dry than he thought, but he feels more at ease, more like himself again.

The image in the mirror unnerves him, the growing stubble transforming his face into someone else. He always hated his face like that, hated the way it made him look unkept. But there's not a single razor in the fresher, so there isn't much he can do about it. He rasps a hand through it, the start of a real beard for the first time in his life, wondering if he should ask Rey whether there are any on board. She'd probably offer him one of the rusty scalpels...

He shudders.

Scratch marks span from his jaw to his neck from when they fought, and he's grateful that Rey keeps her nails short and blunt. Practical.

The look in his eyes is new as well.

For years, his face schooled into a impenetrable mask, disciplined and unreadable, so the undiluted _hunger_ reflecting back rattles him. No wonder Rey can read him like a book. He tries to pull himself together, to appear aloof and in control, but the mental effort proves not to be worth it.

He finds Rey on her back underneath the engine, her long, muscular legs spread out, the sleeves of that shirt rolled up, revealing her arms as she works overhead, completely absorbed in the task at hand.

„Can I help somehow?“

„No, I don't think so.... or yes! There's a box with parts in hold two, with spare cables, could you get me that?“

Hold two.

Hold two is the one accessed through the captain's quarters.

He has asked her.

Now he can't back out.

He makes his way through the hallways, reluctantly, needing a moment in front of the closed door.

Memories rise up like fog, unbidden and unwelcome, their cool wispy tendrils coiling around him, threatening to drag him under.

He pushes them away, and opens the door.

The room is unchanged.

Messy with its mismatched bedside lamps, old, crooked cabinets and worn carpets.

The photo is still on the wall, Leia in the front, so very young, her smile blindingly bright, Han behind her, grinning rougishly and proud into the camera, circling his arms protectively around her huge belly. Her hair twisted elegantly in the traditional, elaborate Alderaanian wedding braids. They are a picture of pure, unadulterated happiness, so hopeful for the future, blissfully ignorant of the horrors to come.

A ghost lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly.

The dust in the air stings in his eyes.

He turns abruptly to hold two, and starts to rifle through the boxes with shaking hands.

The first one he opens, he nearly drops. It contains things from another life, packed away carefully, reverently.

The second seems to belong to Chewie. Why is noone labeling this junk?

The third must be the one Rey refered to, a mismatch of parts and cables and tools, thrown haphazardly into the box.

He grabs it quickly and hurries to leave the room, the ghosts behind.

When Rey reappears from underneath the engine, her hair in wild disarray, shirt and hands and _face_ covered in greesy stains, she accepts the box eagerly, starting immeaditely to rifle through.

„We need to rewire several calcinators. And then, if we can find a working C-class transformer, I could maybe fix the dataline to the controls.... This could really work.“

She turns her bright eyes to him, smiling with her whole face, excitement spiking through their connection. Her cheeks dimple, her joy and relief push through her Bond, a warm, sunny assault on his senses. He's taken aback by the sight, rendered wordless, _breathless_ , still unused to being the recipient of her broad beaming.

Craving it more with every instance.

„You're...-“

No.

„You're good at this.“

Better.

She laughs then, a surprisingly thoaty, deep sound, completely unfiltered or self aware..

„Don't sound so surprised.“

„I'm not.“

He's completely sincere, but she laughs again. It takes him a moment to identify the source of her mirth. Is she... teasing him? Again?

He studies her, but her attention is refocused on the box, rummaging through it eagerly, grabbing this and that, putting cables next to the welding equipment on the floor.

Rey is completely in her element, and he suspects her babbling is mostly for her own benefit, going on and on about parts and emitters and ports and the AI that she could fix if she found enough beta transmission cables...

It's a sight he has never witnessed before, and he's drinking it in. She's capable, no, _professional_ , in a way he didn't suspect, her fingers working nimbly and selfassured on cutting cables and connecting wires.

Then his stomach rumbles, loudly, and he winces, not wishing to draw attention to that particular issue. He's ravenous, not really used to go a long time without a decent meal.

She looks up, apprehension in her eyes.

„Drink some water, it helps a bit.“

She's thinking how she's hungry as well but quickly too absorbed again in her work to pay any more attention to it.

He regrets reminding her, and wordlessly goes to get them both something to drink.

When he returns with a pitcher and two cups, she's kneeling on the floor, welding something with the ease of past experience, her thoughts running a mile a minute through calculations and options. He can't help but admire her obvious proficiency, her selfassurance in this. Gone is the insecure girl, and in her stead, there's this confident creature, saving them both with her skill singlehandedly, tirelessly, while all he can do is stand and stare.

His pants start to grow tigther.

He doesn't want to disturb her, and sets her cup onto the floor next to her. She's pushing up the welding mask and wipes her brows, her face flushed and stained with grease marks. She never looked more alluring to him than in this very moment and he has to restrain himself consciously not to just drag her back onto the floor.

„Thank you.“

She nods gratefully at him, and again, there is that easy smile that seems to light up the entire room, that causes something in him to flutter weakly, to turn his empty stomach in a strange way.

She drinks, her mind drifting back to controls and parts, completely oblivious to his reaction to her. Her throat works with greedy gulps and he can't rip his eyes from its slender, elegant lines, from the dark marks he left there on her skin.

_He._

On _her_ skin.

He shifts uncomfortably, inconspicuously.

She puts the cup down and turns to him.

„Let's try this. I haven't found a c-class transmitter in the spare parts, but I inserted an old b-class one instead, and doubled up on the wiring... maybe this will work. Go to the cockpit and switch the ignition when I tell you to.“

With effort, he directs his thoughts back to the machinery. If this was every other person, he'd bluster at being outright told what to do.

With Rey, it seems like the most natural thing in the galaxy.

The cockpit is a respite, giving him the chance to collect his frazzled mind. She must have worked in here as well while he was in the fresher, as the panels back in place, the floor tidy, with screws and metal parts and wires sorted neatly into individual boxes.

He sits in the copilot's seat and closes his eyes for just a minute, resting his mind.

He's _tired_ in a way he hasn't been in a long time, the past days, the restless nights leaving him even more sleep depraved then usual.

_Ben._

Her voice in his mind feels like a caress down his spine and he shivers. That old name, from her, makes him wonder _what if_ more than anything.

What if... they met under different circumstances. Like her being an engineer in the First Order...

What if... he had been just a pilot, like he always wanted to, and her, just Rey...

What if... he could somehow resurrect what he lost so long ago, be the _Ben_ for her she so clearly finds more bearable than _him...-?_

_When I tell you, I need you to switch the ignition the same moment than I connect the kyber, ok?_

_Right, ok._

_Be careful please, that b-class transmitter was really, really old..._

Lost for words, he sends a silent acknowledgement through the Bond. Is she _worried_ about him?

_Now!_

He hits the switch, and, immediately, sparks errupt.

His preternatural reflexes call on the Force to contain the sparks quickly before they can damage the other controls, leaving only a slight tingling in the fingers that got zapped.

A burnt smell drifts through the cockpit, stinking of molten plastics and fried parts.

Anxiety spikes across the Bond.

_...I think it's safe to assume that transmitter blew up._

He's about to assure Rey that they will find another way to fix this when he already hears her steps, running, skidding across the hallway.

She stumbles a moment later into the cockpit, the instant relief in their connection like a deep breath of fresh air.

„You're ok.“

It's more a statement than a question, but he answers anyways.

„Yes, why shouldn't I be?“

„I felt how the transmitter blew and I thought...“

He hears the thought, the _I thought I electrocuted you with that_ and he almost has to laugh.

She clearly feels his mirth, and anger rises across the Bond, quickly dousing any amusement he might have found in this.

„This is not funny!“

„You have to admit, it is, in a fashion.“

He thinks back about their battles, fierce and unrestrained.

Lets her in on memories of past combat, being under blaster fire, freezing it in mid air.

Very consciously broadcasts how he just contained the sparks with the Force.

She gapes at him, in wonder.

„How did you do that? That's a very useful skill to have.“

Her mind is set on all the ways she could incorporate in her tinkering, and he has to marvel at this strange situation.

Lost in space, with his 'mortal enemy', on death's door step, and yet... he'd rather be here, now, with her, than anywhere else in the galaxy.

„It's called Tutaminis. I can show you later. Do we have a backup plan for that transmitter?“

With effort, she's dragging her attention away from the Force skill, back to the Falcon, her mind running through different scenarios. He briefly wonders if her awe at his abilities in the Force is the same like his admiration for her skills? He has no interest at all in fixing up ships or droids or other machinery, never had any patience for these minor details. All he wanted to do was fly, be a pilot.

But he'd listen to her going on and on about it anways, if it meant he could spend more time with her.

„Hmm... how far away do you think is that planet that you found?“

He weighs his answer. The Falcon _is_ a fast ship, although their fuel reserves could limit their range. Without the hyperdrive, this could take a bit.

„Hard to tell. Hours definately, maybe more than a day.“

„We have one more c-class transmitter abroad, but it's currently build into the auxiliary heating system.“

„So taking it out would freeze the ship.“

„Not at once, but eventually... yes.“

They stare at each other, pondering their options then he shrugs.

„Do we have a choice?“

He doesn't even have to ask. It's a gamble, but they have run out of options.

„Let me try to fix the AI first. If we get it back up and running, we could program it to fly on autopilot while we stay in the engine room and use the waste heat there. I think it's only the dataline that's fried and not its components.“

He is watching her as she works on the rewiring, helping her where he can, but it's clear he has no real skill or patience for the fine art of coaxing machinery back to life. She gave up after she tried to show him how to rewire a calcinator, but Rey doesn't seem to care, her signature in the Force content and at ease. So he is hovering close, not too close, and fetching her this and that when she asks him to.

It's a companionable silence, now and than broken but his rumbling stomach or hers.

Where ever the resitance hides out right now, it must be a planet with plenty of water resources as the water reserves of the Falcon are still ok for now and at least for that, he is grateful.

He'd love to talk some more with her, but doesn't dare to break the easy calm, doesn't dare divert her attention.

He'd _also_ love to dive back into her mind, to learn more but her focus on the tasks at hand prove to shield her effectively from him.

So his thoughts drift back to the machine room, the way her hips moved against his, so perfectly in sync, the way her body felt small, but strong underneath him, her legs gripping his hips like a vice. How wet she was, how much he would have liked to _touch_ her, _taste_ her. The way he just wanted to rip the shirt off of her, and devour her tits properly...-

He almost startles when the pliers clank to the floor loudly and Rey turns to glare at him.

„You know, it's kind of rude to try to poke through my head uninvited and then … distract me with... with... _this...“_

She gestures animatedly between her and him.

„If you want to be nasty, go be nasty somewhere else while I am trying to fix this ship so we, you know, _don't die._ “

Well fuck. He must have transmitted, again.

Diving into other peoples' minds was a habbit, an almost unconscious act.

„Sorry.. I...“

_...I didn't mean to distract you?_

_...I didn't mean to piss you off?_

_...I didn't want you to see that??_

„...I'm sorry.“ he finishes lamely, ears burning.

Rey huffs, but seems to be somewhat mollified by his excuse, and goes back to work on the wiring.

„... I wasn't trying to be...“

He swallows.

„...you know... _nasty_...“

Rey stiffens, and turns back to him, studies him.

Maybe he should just keep his mouth shut.

But something compelled him to clarify this. He really didn't try to rile her up or needle her.

As always, when pinned by her stare, it's uncomfortable, and he has to resist the urge to squirm. She doesn't use the Force on him to dive into his mind, doesn't even feel out their Bond, but her perceptive eyes narrow while she studies him, and whatever she finds in his make her relax slightly. She nods, and turning back, grabs the pliers again.

„...I...“

What the fuck, why can't he just shut up?

Fuck.

Rey sits with her back to him, tension in her spine, the pliers motionless in midair. A bit of the shorter hair at her neck escaped the messy bun and curls over one particular dark mark he sucked into her skin.

... _I what? WHAT??_

_...I just can't stop thinking about that?_

_...I just can't stop thinking about YOU?_

This is useless, he is useless at this.

He bites his tongue, staring down mutely into his hands.

He fucked it up, _again._

He doesn't expect her speak, so when she does, it startles him.

Her voice is low, and a bit shaky.

„I know. Me too...“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that, another chapter? And we are fixing the ship?  
> And they are, I don't know, *talking*? Who AM I, really??  
> Thank the easter bunny for some days off and the Muse for pelting me with ideas.  
> (and for the characters to behave for once. Ahem)
> 
> I know I know, it's a cruel point to cut this off, but the next chapter is already on its way - ready for some hardcore tropey stuff? ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Kylo, err... Ben try out this talking thing.

Rey did indeed manage to fix the AI.

To his annoyance (and her delight, he suspects) it kept refering to him as 'Master Solo', so he fled the cockpit to prepare the machine room for the flight time, collecting blankets and pillows and everything he could find that would help with the inevitable drop in temperature. 

He eyed the one dusty sleeping bag he found in hold 4 wearily, but ended up adding it to the pile.

Rey promised to call him to program the AI once she finished connecting the auxiliary c-class transmitter into the engine. He left that in her capable hands.

His stomach is protesting now, so empty it almost hurts and he's on edge, and antsy, his mind wired in a way that not helpful at all. Pain he can channel into the dark Force, but hunger? How does Rey even _stand_ this?

In the machine room, he is trying to meditate to ground himself for the upcoming challenges. He might be able to keep the vacuum's freezing temperature at bay with the Force, at least for a while, but he needs his focus and strength to do that for a prolonged period of time.

When he settles on the floor, crosslegged, it takes him a while to quiet his mind, to open himself to the Force. Habbit makes him reach out for the dark lake, anger, frustration, but also passion readily available to draw from.

But before he enters it, he pauses.

Strength in a known path. Strength he would need.

Yet there is another... a much harder way.

One with unknown results.

One with treacherous, abstract concepts like peace, and calm.

Rey's presence in their Bond when she healed him.

Her bright, dimpled smiles.

Her innocent curiosity when she pondered what kissing him would be like.

Not that she did – end up kissing him. Her refusal still smarts.

But..

the other side, it helped him save Rey.

It has been the will of the Force.

The dark lake glitters invitingly, enticingly, promising him resolve, and balance, and raw _power._

He wastes a long time at the shore, pondering the black waters.

In the end, he opens himself to the Force, and just focuses on their Bond. On Rey. On her presence, warm and welcoming on the other side of their connection.

No codes.

No passion.

No peace, not in these dire circumstances.

Just Rey.

He lets himself feel their connection, and the connection of everything around them, the links between every being and the universe, of the certainty of being a part, a minuscule part in all this.

Serenity.

Belonging.

When Rey finally calls him, softly, he emerges out of his meditation slowly, but surprisingly well rested.

„You meditated.“

Pleasure ripples through the Bond, and her wide smile back, stretching across her tired face.

„... It wasn't dark.“

Somehow, her comment makes him feel selfconscious, as if she caught him redhanded.

„Well it wasn't light either.“

He snaps at her, annoyed, and his answer might have been a tad too cutting but she just laughs lightly at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her mood way too sunny for what lies ahead.

„I'm done with the engine. Ready to program the AI now?“

He gets up and follows her to the cockpit, still grumpy.

She turned out all the lamps to conserve energy, except for the emergency lights.

They bath the machine room in a very dim glow, almost like on board the dreadnoughts when they power down for the night cycle.

He's sprawled on the floor, long legs spread out in front of him, turning a part of his dismantled saber in his hands, over and over, restlessly.

Rey is fiddling with the engine, checking this and that, content in a way that doesn't make any sense to him in their precarious situation.

They could very well die tonight.

Maybe _that_ was the will of the Force, to remove two players from the board at once, breaking the stalemate in the galaxy? Start anew?

After he instructed the AI to fly into the direction of the planet, and to alert them if the fuel reserves ran low, the air in the cockpit already had a noticable nip to it.

Much faster than he anticipated.

The engine hums, warming the air slightly. It's not cool per say, but it's a lot less warm than some hours ago. He calculates... they have a few more hours, before he will have to shield them. He wonders how the old AI will fare in the freezing temperatures...-

„Quit worrying. We can't change it anyways.“

He looks up. Rey is crouching before him, and the low lighting bathing her in shadows, her eyes dark, her hair darker. She wears a man's sweater as a second layer, an old ratty thing with holes in it. His cowl is by her side, an addition she brought to the machine room sheepishly.

„We'll be fine.“

Why _she_ is reassuring _him,_ he has no idea. It should be his job, to take care of her.

„Take the sleeping bag. It'll help you conserve your body warmth better.“

She is already freezing, he can feel it across their Bond.

He's still in his long sleeved undershirt, grateful that it finally dried. His tunic is draped over the engine and hopefully when he'll have to but it back on, it won't be damp anymore. He's not cold yet, always running a little hot, but it's only a matter of time now.

The glow of the emergency lamps casts the room in a soft, intimate almost darkness, making him nervous for some reason.

„So...“

„Yes?“

„How did you do that, containing the shortening of the transmitter?“

He's grateful for the distraction, but doesn't want to broadcast it, so he proceeds to explain the principles.

It's basic lore, neither light nor dark, and Rey listens with her usual rapt fascination, asking questions, soaking up his words.

It's not the first time they are doing this, nor the second, but he is still surprised to realize how much he just _enjoys_ sharing this with her, teaching her.

Then he proceeds to show her, through their Bond, reveling in their close connection.

Their Bond is...

It's growing stronger. Even stronger than before. While it always felt like a strange phenomenon, it is now an extension of his self, a natural part in communicating with Rey, in showing her thoughts, or images or intention.

Where he often lacks the right words, it's so much easier to bring his point across this way... but he also senses that Rey is wary of it. Maybe she doesn't trust him enough, maybe it's too intimate. She prefers if they actually speak, even thought there is a greater risk of misunderstandings. He doesn't get it, but concedes in favour of just being able to talk to her.

Rey, he discovers, is almost comically inept at shielding.

Not mental shields, there he supposes he already gave her a lot of training in the months after Crait.

But the physical focus of the Force, a basic principle every light or dark sider should learn, doesn't come easy to her.

He tries several approaches of explaining, demonstrating, drawing comparisons, but Rey's shields are unfocused, and too thin.

Once she becomes too frustrated to concentrate anymore, they give up.

The room falls silent, except for the steady background of the generators and the engine. He feels his kyber in close proximity, its energy weaving with his own. It reacted to Rey as well, seemed to actually call out to her. Was it the Force, showing her a way out, to save them? Or was it due to their unique Bond? Whatever it told her to do, it worked at least. Dwelling on the fact that his saber was now in pieces, integrated into the Falcon of all things, he wonders if he will ever be able to reassemble it.

Rey breaks the silence first.

„It's really unfair, that you're so good at this, and I'm so bad...“

She's actually pouting, playing with a lose thread of that ugly sweater.

It's orange of all colours.

Orange.

He hates orange.

He almost has to smile.

„I had years of training. You tried for what, an hour? Give it some time.“

„But, shouldn't we be like, I don't know, evenly matched? Being _mortal enemies_ and all that...?“

She's drawing the words out comically, clearly aiming for irony, and she does it for his sake. He doesn't rise to the thought, another much more worth following on.

„Rey... we _are_ evenly matched, can't you sense it? Have you never met another Force sensitive besides me?“

She ponders that.

„Only Snoke, and Luke, and...-“

He winces, cutting her off before she can continue.

„Don't let their capabilities fool you. They were both masters with decades of experience. When you are with the Force, it never leaves you, it's a life long learning. Your potential in the Force mirrors my own. It's just that you grew up untrained whereas I have started learning quite early in life.“

Rey hangs on his lips. It's the dim lighting, the almost darkness, that makes him brave, and whisper the next words instead of swallowing them down.

„Your potential... From the moment I met you, I knew you were special, I felt it.“

She's taken aback, pondering this.

The silence stretches, and he's almost regretting speaking so much when she finally answers, whispering as well.

„You just seem to know so much about me when I hardly _know_ you...“

She sounds... bitter? Frustrated? Wistful?

„Well-“

He swallows, and fidgets, and it's only the shelter of the darkness that gives him the courage him utter the next words. They almost stay stuck in his throat and even those two, he has to fight to get out.

"...then ask.“

The dead thing in his chest beats almost painfully. He's not sure what he just agreed to, but what does it matter? They could die soon, if this won't work. 

She's drawing a breath, surprised, and he immediately anticipates what she's about to ask, what knowledge she will demand of him.

„No, not that.“

He adds a „Please“, and afterthought, to soften his refusal. It sounds dry, and broken.

Immediately, she's annoyed.

„You could start to do me the same courtesy that I do you and stay out of my head.“

„I wasn't...-“

„You were!“

„I really was not. I just know what you want to ask.“

Why do people always assume the worst of him?

She draws back, and maybe she heard that. Or guessed it.

Her next words are contrite.

„I'm sorry. You're right.“

Her concession rocks him. When has anyone ever apologized to him, on a personal level? Cared enough to feel bad about hurting him?

She doesn't give him a chance to think too much about it, firing off her next question.

„If you could have anything to eat right now, what would you have?“

He gapes at her, trying to make out in the darkness whether this is a joke.

She looks him dead in the eye, completely serious.

„...You want to know what I want to... eat?“

What kind of question is that?

„Yes.“ She nods determinatedly. Still pinning him with her gaze.

His stomach rumbles, as if summoned.

„As a meal?“

„Yes.“

„I...“

With anything he anticipated, it definately was not that.

He's so surprised, he actually needs to think about it a moment or two.

„A steak I guess, a big one, or two. Potatoes, roasted greens Alderaanian style.“

His childhood favorite.

Her haze softens.

„That sounds lovely. I'd love to try that sometimes...“

She trails off, looking wistfully.

„What, the greens?“

„All of it.“

„You never had a steak?“

He shouldn't be surprised, really.

To have to grow up on a backwater planet like Jakku, fending for your own, how could she have ever enjoyed the finer parts of life? 

She shakes her head, luckily not offended. He catches glimpses of her thoughts, how rare it was to be able to catch a small desert animal and eat something fresh, how many portions it would have taken to exchange for the luxury of a single piece of meat.

„If we survive this, I will make sure you get to try it.“

She stares at him, for a long moment, and he can see the conflicting thoughts running through her head, too fast, too fleeting to catch on.

„Ben Solo, is that... are you asking me out on a _date_?“

Her tone is teasing, but there an edge underneath, the words too clippped, the tension in her jaw too obvious.

Her eyes peering a shade too intently into him.

The usage of the former surname rattles, and he can't tell whether that was her intention. But it cuts, and sours his mood instantly.

His automatic, impulsive answer now carries weight, and a meaning he hadn't anticipated.

Whatever he wants to eat, he just commands.

On his ship.

With the First Order.

He never goes out to eat somewhere else anymore, too dangerous to receive something poisoned...-

„Ben, I'm not coming back with you to the First Order.“

There is steel in her voice, her eyes burning into him now, infusing every single one of her words with unbreakable conviction.

He feels his temper rising, always rising in answer to her own, always meeting a challenge with a challenge.

It takes every effort to reel himself in, to stay calm, _this time,_ and in control, to make her see reason.

Do better, _this time._

So he takes a deep breath, and gentles his voice as much as he can under the circumstances, pitching it low, infusing it with sincerity.

„Would it really be so bad? I meant what I told you, you'd have a place in this, a say, in all of it. You'd be by my side, _ruling,_ as my equal.“

It's more than he'd ever offer, to anyone. He knows, _knows,_ that if Rey won't accept, won't be by his side, he will be on his own, forever, or rather, until someone finally manages to kill him off, either his mother, or one of the many factions within the First Order, whoever will be quicker, or smarter, or just that little bit more lucky in the end.

Rey stares at him, uncomprehending, and he can feel the stormy mixture of anger, disbelief and disappointment whirling within her, pushing through the bond, choking him.

So this it her answer.

Maybe dying on the Falcon, freezing to death, _is_ the better end then.

„Ben. The First Order wants to kill me...-“

He tries to interject immediately, but she pins him with a glare and a gesture to shut him up, continuing unperturbed.

„...They are killing my friends. They bring hunger, and suffering, and death. They are destroying entire _planets_...-“

Her voice rose steadily until it breaks off in an almost hysterical wheeze, finally giving him the opening to cut in.

„The resistance kills as well! Do you have any idea how many died during your last attack on our dreadnoughts? Over 11.000! Dead, gone, just like that! And for what? To celebrate that you managed to take out one of ours with your old little ships? You killed one of my best generals in this attack... She was expecting you know.“

Rey froze at his words, and horror washing over her expressive face, her eyes, haunted, and full of sorrow. He instantly regrets what he said, but it's too late, and now he can't take it back. And it's the truth after all, a side Rey and her resistance friends all too often gleefully gloss over and...-

„Was it yours?“

The whispered words, toneless, and almost too silent to make them out, bring his rising anger to a screeching halt.

„WHAT?! No!“

He stares at her, aghast.

„No, of course not.“

The thought is ridiculous. How can she think...?

As if he'd... as if... as if there was any...

She nods, mutely, back to absently picking at one of the lose threads of the sleeve of her sweater. Her eyes shine suspiciously in the darkness, and fuck, if she starts crying now...-

„Rey, I...“

But no words come.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair frustratedly, trying to get his temper back under control. It might be his last night, and he didn't plan to spend it fighting with Rey.

She's upset, with him, _again._

He's as bad at this as Rey is in shielding. At least.

Sadness floods their Bond to the brim, overflowing, regret at their chosen paths, sorrow about the uncertain future.

He needs to fix this.

A strange calm descends on his frazzled nerves, an inevitability in this night. A leap into the unknown.

Something strange and foreign crawls up his throat and he has to swallow, hard, to keep it down.

A laugh? A sob?

A confession.

Then words rush out, on their own, hurried.

„I haven't fucked anyone in the past three years, maybe four.“

Rey's head whips up, and she stares at him, dumbfounded, her mouth open and the cheek that was turned away from him is a little wet. He winces.

She's staring at him, shocked to the bone, clearly searching for words, clearly not finding them.

Then the fire returns to her eyes, and she all but explodes at him, hissing viciously.

„I don't... „

She's drawing quick breathes, as if the words need extra oxygen to make it out, a resource she seems to be sorely lacking at the moment and he welcomes her rage, all of it better than watching her cry.

„I don't CARE about... about THAT... who you... you know... _sleep_ with with...-“

She's clearly very embarassed, stumbling over the words and he's startled to realize that she is not entirely honest. Mixed into a hint of relief, deception roils through their Bond, heavy and overpowering, inky tendrils wrapping her words in thornes.

„... what I care about is the war. The dead. I am so sick and tired about it. I HATE it.“

This, at least, is common ground, and true for both of them.

He signs, a boneweary deep sound, running his hand through his hair again. It's getting long, and needs a cut.

„I know. Me too.“

Silence, stretches, again.

The air grows colder.

Pain, and misery lingers in their Bond.

He gets up to grab his tunic, grateful it dried enough to provide some warmth.

Rey burrows deeper into the sleeping bag.

He will have to shield them soon.

She breaks the silence first, her voice small, and hestitant.

„Why did you come to save me?“

He almost laughs, but the bitterness kills the impulse, so he shakes his head instead, slowly, disbelievingly.

„Why did I....“

The air is dusty, smelling of engine grease and musty old fabric. He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

„Why not?“

Rey sounds put out.

„Why not? What kind of answer is that?“  
  


„How could I not have saved you?“

He clarifies, baffled.

„I killed Snoke for you.“

„You killed Snoke for yourself.“

Again, the bitterness, the resentment in their Bond is a tangible thing.

They turn and turn and turn and it always comes back to this. Locked in an eternal stalemate. Doomed to repeat the same cycle over and over again.

He's so tired.

„I...“

He doesn't know how to complete that sentence in a way that does the deed justice. He doesn't want to lie to her. He wants, _needs_ her to understand.

„I did. In a way. I wanted to get rid of him for a long time, but I had no idea how. He was very gifted with minds, I had to be very careful. But it was mostly for you. You forced my hand when you just showed up unannounced.“

„When I just... Ben!“

She's flustered AND angry now.

Great.

„I didn't just 'show up', I came for you _._ To help you.“

„You just came to turn me.“

„Yes.“

That hurts. It shouldn't, it really shouldn't. He should be fucking used to it by now.

But he can't help it, it still hurts.

All he ever is for other people... is a political asset. A liability. A problem than needs solving.

He's glad his eyes are closed. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he breaks.

A shuffling sound makes him open them again. Rey moved, wrapped up in the dirty old sleeping bag, awkwardly scooting closer to where he sits. Her legs drawn up, she's curling in on herself, hugging her knees.

„I didn't just 'show up', I came for _you.“_

She repeats her earlier statement, looking fiercely at him, as if repeating clarified her meaning, made it any better. Her feet are close enough that he could touch them, and, on impulse, he does, wrapping a hand around one ankle, stroking her leg slowly over the sleeping bag. The touch immediately soothing on his nerves, even though they are seperated through the dirty fabric.

„You _are_ a problem that needs solving. But Ben...“

He winces at her bluntness. The old name, on her lips, is a slap and a caress at once, all wrapped into one.

„ _... Ben...“_

She breathes the name, again, tenderly this time, infused with so much more...

„ _..._ You are worth it.“

„No I am not.“

„Yes you _are._ I have seen it. I know it.“

Her voice is soft now, her earlier fire burned down to a steady flame, warm and beseeching, urging him to understand. Conviction blazes through their Bond, filling it until there is no room for anything else. Overwhelming him.

He blindly keeps stroking her leg, needing the contact, reeling, trying to process it all.

She shuffles even closer, caught up in the smelly sleeping bag that is hindering her movements, but then, then...

Her feet at his legs, and her knees against his chest. She awkwardly leans over and reaches out, encircling him in her arms.

He doesn't dare to move, doesn't dare to breathe, and one of her hands finds his neck, pulling his head against her shoulder.

It's awkward, and uncomfortable, and he has to bend and twist in strange places to fit against her body, but it's perfect.

It's everything.

His throat narrows, closes, and his eyes sting, and he has to fight for his life to keep it together.

Rey just keeps holding him, the cool hand at his neck softly stroking through his hair.

Her conviction razes through him ruthlessly, a perfect counterpoint to her gentle hands.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches out, drawing her legs over his lap, drawing her to his side, carefully telegraphing each movement not to startle her. He couldn't stand if she turned away again.

But she is sighing, contently, until they find a new position, her legs draped across his lap, her body cradled against his chest, her head leaning against his heart.

The Bond fills with warmth, and hope and _belonging_ and both close their eyes in the exact same moment.

Basking in the rightness of it all.

The rightness of this new, and tender thing.

The rightness of _them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Ben.  
> I swear, I have *no* idea why our lost boy is thinking that blurting out his sexual history like that is winning any favours with his lady.  
> *facepalm*  
> But he insisted, so what can I do?  
> And while we're on the topic, what are your headcannons on that? What *IS* his history with the ladies? It's something that is filling my headspace to the brim, so much so that I have a halfwritten Kylo/OC scene from his younger, wilder years which will never ever see the light of day as it's a, um... 'genre' I absolutely despise myself. But I had to get it out, just so I can move on with this story...  
> And yeah, Rey... I know. Don't @ me ;)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for complicated questions, and uncomfortable truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brb, drowning myself in a barrel of holywater while you guys read:)

He can't stop touching her.

He just can't stop.

Their breaths are visible in the air now and Rey is a warm, content bundle in his arms. He's running his hands over her back, across her shoulders, over her legs or her feet, as if to reassuring himself that this is real, _she_ is real, and in his arms.

They don't speak, their silence lazy and serene, and now and then Rey sighs and snuggles closer against his chest. He tightens his grip on her, careful, in answer.

The engines, humming low and steady, don't manage to keep the freezing bite at bay anymore.

Rey is covered all the way up to her face in her sleeping bag, and her nose peaking out is turning slightly red. As child of the desert, the cold is hard for her to bear.

The Force is enveloping them thickly, languorously, but it doesn't manage to lessen the cold bite in the air.

When Rey shivers against him, he reaches out and opens himself to the Force, shaping it into a perfect ball of energy around them.

The Force answers to him effortlessly, and he marvels once again at the harmony reflected in their Bond. Whatever _this_ is, it is the will of the Force. He knows well enough not to question it, the truth of it rattling his very bones. The only question remaining is how long he can keep Rey at his side, what he can do to prolong this.

He had waited with shielding them, to keep their temperature high enough to survive a while, but low enough to conserve his energy for as long as possible if needed, but now it was finally time to keep the chill at bay.

Rey shivers against him again and he drops a quick kiss onto her hairline, one of the only parts that still stick out of her sleeping bag, and marvels that she lets him get away with it.

„The water will be frozen soon, do you want something to drink now?“

She shakes her head.

„Better not, we can't know when we can use the fresher again... How much longer do you think we'll take to arrive?“

He focuses, feeling for the life he sensed, feeling it closer, much closer than before.

„Hard to tell. We're getting closer though. I can feel it. Maybe a couple of more hours. You should sleep and conserve your energy.“

„Sleep?!“

Rey sounds increduluous.

„How am I supposed to sleep _now_ , with everything going on? I can't sleep, what happens if _you_ fall asleep and then we'll both freeze to death? And I am much too wired to rest now.“

She wiggles to meet his eyes, but he keeps them unfocused, concentrating on the translucent barrier around them.

„If you want to, I could... you know...help you...“

The way she just froze tells him to proceed with caution.

„You could do... what?“

Her voice left suspicion behind, and approaches danger, _fast._

„I could help you... sleep. With the Force. Only if you want to of course...“

„Ben!“

„... or not.“

He tightens his grip on her, afraid that she might leave his embrace, but she snuggles back against him and huffs.

„I swear, I wonder sometimes if you say stuff like that just to piss me off or if you really a overgrown, stupid idiot.“

He can't help it. He barks out a laughter, quick to subdue it again, but the odd sound lingers in the air, and amusement fills their Bond. One of the auxiliary airvents wheezes noisily, and it almost sounds like a _good choice, I like her._

„Could be both, but you're safe with option 2 most of the time.“

She ellbows him then, right into the rips, a vicious, quick stab only lessened by the restrictions of the sleeping bag. He startles at the unexpected movement, and another noise rips free from him, one that sounds suspiciously like a giggle.

„Stop that!“

„Ben! I don't believe it! Are you... are you ticklish?“

His arms band her against him, not carefully this time, but strong as steel to immobilize her.

„Quit that. Or do you want me to lose focus and drop the shield?“

„Sorry.“

Rey is chargrined, but then she brightens again and a dangerous gleam appears in her eyes.

„An investigation for another time then...“

Another time then...

First of all, he needs to secure that there will be another time.

And that he can keep her close, long enough.

Close enough for these kinds of... _investigations._

It's odd, because it's not even turning him on. And everything that Rey does turns him on usually.

But huddling together in the freezing Falcon, locked up in the engine room of all places, in the increasingly uncomfortable situation they find themselves in, the threat of death hanging heavy over their heads... nothing disturbs the utter calm and peace that fill their Bond to the brink, fills _him, in a way h_ e didn't know was even possible, this sense of belonging, of contentment.

Quiet in his usually restless mind.

If he could spend his last hours, or all of his remaining days like this, he'd do so gladly.

He thinks of the Order, of Hux, of his Knights, of the many factions that by now definately are squabbling against each other, plotting for dominance. Have they searched for him at least, just for show, or did they straight up fall into their plotting and scheming for position of Supreme Leader?

Hux was not stupid, he'd put up a front and conduct a rescue mission first, just for show in case he did turn up again. He has probably found the trashed Tie by now, found the dead Stormtroopers and spun a story to his advantage.

His Knights are still divided across two systems, and they at least must be looking for him for real. While not very adept with the Force, but they should be able to sense him still being alive. Whatever personal feelings they might have, they have a code to stick to.

He's the Darksider that replaced their former leader, he has the Force, and the saber – or he had one at least.

They wouldn't let Hux get away with too shallow of a ploy.

„You're thinking about them...“

Her voice is carefully neutral, and she doesn't search his gaze. Her legs draw up, leaning against his chest, and she curls in on herself, a compact, slightly shivering bundle.

She made him put on his cowl earlier, insisted stubbornly until he gave in, if only just to return to the peace and quiet they shared. He planned to put it onto her when she slept.

It makes him feel... odd... to wear it, but can't pinpoint why. Maybe it's her blood that is still clinging to it. Maybe it's the image of her wounded body wrapped up in it is burned into his irises forever.

He hums affirmatively, no need to deny the simple fact.

„Do you miss them?“

He almost drops his shield at this.

„MISS them? What do you mean, miss them?“

„You know... like... you think about them, and how they are doing, and when you can go back to them...-“

She must have clearly misunderstood.

„No Rey, I don't miss them. We're not ...friends.“

„Oh...“

Her voice sounds small, and a little sad, and he has to really focus _not_ to skim her thoughts. Instead, he concentrates on the Force, maintaining the ball of energy around them, wondering how cold the outside is by now. The metallic workbench Rey used earlier to dismantle his saber gleams and glitters, as if frozen over already. Not good.

„Do you have any friends in the First Order then?“

Her question startles him, both in its innocence and in its trajectory. She's clearly puzzled, almost... worried about him.

„Well Hux hasn't really tried to have me assassinated in the past two weeks, does this count?“

She freezes at his attempt at humor, at this, pondering his words. Rather than amusement, there is alarmradiating from her. Then she snuggles closer, rubbing her cheek against his chest, the movement... strange and misplaced in a way a cat marking something her possession. He doesn't find that he particularly minds.

„Then why are you staying? What is keeping you there? You could just leave...“

She trails off and he wants to sigh, sigh with the bone-weariness of a hundred years, a hundred wars fought and no resolution in sight.

„I'm the Surpreme Leader.“

„Ben! That's not enough!“

He shrugs, his eyes trained onto the swirling energy at work in front of them.

„Not enough to rule the galaxy? There are many people who might object to that.“

„Don't joke around, you know what I mean.“

He didn't mean it as a joke, but as always, talking to Rey, finding the right words, the right _tone_ , is a challenge.

„Ben... just tell me this....“

He braces himself, that voice of her, that deep routed determination and stubbornness, leaving no room for argument.

„Are you happy?“

He flinches then, he can't help it. Trust Rey to be blunt instead of subtle, the words more stab than question.

„What kind of question is that?“

„A simple one, stop evading. It's just a yes or a no.“

It is _anything_ but simple.

He _is_ happy, yes, he could tell her this and it wouldn't even be a lie. Because he is happy right _now_.

But it's not what Rey asked, and they both know it.

She's demanding the truth and the truth is... complicated.

He was happy to have killed Snoke, _with her._

To be free.

The possibilities endless, with her.

And then...

And then, there was Crait.

And then...

Then...

He was... busy. His days filled with meetings, and war councils, and things to fight and rule over.

He had no time to waste.

He had his own destiny to form, to persue, to _chase._

It's what he always wanted, to shake himself free of his past, and do what he was meant to do.

Something new, unhindered by the past.

No Sith, no Jedi.

No Snoke, no resistance.

But the resistance still exists.

So do the Jedi.

The _one_ Jedi.

First voices getting more vocal on taking a more violent approach in smoking them out. Others critisizing him for devoting too much time, too many resources to his „personal vendetta“. Being a leader means, as he found out, being criticized a lot, though in his case, more in the shadows and behind his back than outright and opposing.

He hates treachery, and politics.

So far, he has struck down those voices, ruthlessly.

Now that he's no longer at the helm, the situation might be different.

He's aware that he's silent for too long, but Rey waits, patiently for once.

He tries to form the words, to stay truthful, and give her an answer that will make sense, that will make _her_ understand, but words are fleeting and out of grasp, as translucent and wispy as the ghosts on board.

In the end, he settles on a question, low-pitched and hushed.

„Where would I go, Rey?“

It's her turn to fall silent, for a long time. He gives her the time to think, because the question and the answers are not simple at all.

He is shifting into a light meditation to gather more energy. He's starting to become tired, but not in a way that would undermine his resolve to keep them alife.

He's been through worse, much worse, after all.

Rey's signature in the Force is a bright beacon, calling out to him, drawing him in, instilling an unknown strength within him. There is something inside him, answering, and for once, he doesn't shut it down rigoruously, a tentative part answering Rey's siren call. He feels conflicted, but strangely less so now that he feels the rightness in their Bond, the raw power he can draw from it. He doesn't feel particular weakened or weighted down by the conflict either. It's not _Jedi_ , never that, but it's something else and new, a path previously hidden, previously inaccessible to him.

She still hasn't answered him, but he doesn't mind.

Something about this situation makes him bold. It might be their last night together. It might be the end. The darkness covering their features, his insecurity. He's leaning his head back against the wall, angled away from her, his cowl a shield, _hiding._

When he asks her, it's a low, and almost toneless whisper.

„Why did you not take my hand?“

His heart beats frantic, fast, painful. Surely she must notice.

There's a sudden stillness in her body, a tension in her spine. Low breaths, that hardly register in her ribcage.

Their Bond, a beautiful swirling chaos of all human emotions, too quick to hold onto one, too many to dissect them all.

Finally, something like a desperate breath, or a whimper rises from her, and she swallows, hard, several times, her throat working, struggling to control her composure.

What breaks free in the end is a sob.

„I wanted to take your hand...“

He doesn't dare to breathe.

„...Ben's hand.“

His heart beats and beats and beats.

Silence stretches, fills the room.

The galaxy shrinks down, to him and her.

This, he can feel, is fated. A thousand lives lived, and they'd always come to this point.

The Force... it swells, like a tidal wave, and he feels how it tries to rip him off his feet, threatening to crush down on him, drenching him to the bone. His face feels wet.

Rey is quiet, listening, _waiting_.

She wants Ben.

 _Ben_.

The name, the _dead_ name, the one she calls him when she thinks he's actually listening to her.

But he is always listening to her.

He could be Ben, for her... could he?

Be a bit more Ben.

Learn how to be slow, and patient, and sweet with her.

Gentle and understanding.

The next words are more breath than whisper.

„What if I asked you again...?“

She reacts immediately, sadness floods from her side of the Bond.

„Ben, we've been over this. I'm not joining the First Order.“

The words come quick, and harsh. She's disappointed. Again.

„No, I'm not asking you to! I don't care about the fucking Order!“

Desperation tinges his words, makes him sound weak and pathetic.

But it's the truth. He doesn't, he never really did.

He realizes now, that what seemed like the only path for him to follow back then... proved to be just one, of others.

If they survive.

She's taken aback, looking up, searching his eyes, but his are trained on the shield, sightlessly, hidden in the shadow of his cowl.

„I could... maybe be more like him... for you, you know...“

He hates how unsure he sounds, how he searches for the right thing to say, clumsily, stumbling over his own words.

She draws a ragged breath, and it all rushes out too quickly.

„You don't have to be. I mean, you don't have to pretend.“

He doesn't understand and doesn't reach out this time, his hands like lead, heavy and motionless on her shoulder and her legs.

He doesn't dare to breathe.

One hand wiggles out of the sleeping bag, reaches through the darkness, takes his.

Lacing her fingers through his, her palm, small and rough and callused and _strong._

Restingwarm and steady against his own.

His heart beats so hard he is starting to feel dizzy.

It's the same disconcerting feeling as back then, in the hut. A pulse through the cosmic Force, a ripple in the fabric of reality. The universe righting itself on its axis, on the connection between her and him. The Force _sings,_ whirling with energy, setting his teeth on edge. His chest fills with light, with something unidentifiable, pushing against his ribs uncomfortably.

He turns his face back to her, slowly, and their eyes meet.

Hers, warm, and sad, and a little teary. Searching his. He suddenly knows that her heart is beating as heavily as his, and he knows, _knows,_ she is once more wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

There is nothing he ever wanted more.

Every cell in his body, every fiber of his being longs, screams at him to close the distance.

He wants to devour her, but as he's moving closer, he does so with utmost care.

Ever so slowly, angling his head, searching her eyes.

Her face turned up to him, she draws quick little breaths, blinking rapidly.

Their fingers, interlaced, a tight white knuckled grip.

He never wants to let go of her.

She is excited.

Nervous.

Apprehensive.

A stab of fear from her finally gives him pause.

She is not ready yet.

He will not ruin this.

She wants Ben.

He will be more like Ben for her.

So he closes his eyes and presses his lips to her forehead, lingering there. Grateful that this, at least, is allowed, that he can do this, with her in his arms.

There's relief in their Bond, but also disappointment.

They will survive this.

And she won't be afraid of him anymore.

He will learn to be what she wants, what she _needs_.

And then they will do this properly.

Silence falls, a comfortable one.

They both bask in it, their conversation moving to their Bond, impressions, memories, fleeting pictures.

Neither of them talks, they don't have to anymore.

  
  


Later, much later, he has shifted into full meditation, his grip on the Force slowly but surely slipping. He's not particular skilled in the art shielding, but not bad at it either, and never had to maintain one for such a long time.

But what he lacks in talent or strength, he makes up for with absolute resolve and determination.

He will shield them as long as needed.

It just is becoming harder and harder.

  
  


Rey is worried, still gripping his hand, her presence warm and supportive.

Her mind is too frazzled to find balance in meditation, but she is calming her thoughts, mindful not to disturb his own focus.

His reserves are almost used up, but they still have their Bond, and he draws from it, a golden thread that keeps them alive, and tethered to the here and now in their little bubble of warmth.

  
  


A beeping breaks the silence, indicating that they have reached their destination. They get up, grateful to be able to move, shaking numb limps and shivering in the freezing air. Rey leaves her sleeping bag, and cloaks herself in the two blankets.

The door to the engine room is frozen shut and he has to slam his shoulder against it to throw it open again.

Outside, the metall hallway to the cockpit is frozen, and slippery, gleaming in the low lights.

The cockpit receives them with a wide array of blinking warning lights and insistantly beeping sounds.

Rey rushes to the pilots seat, only slightly thrown off by the cold, and starts to flip switches and punch in commands. They are orbiting now, almost breaking athmosphere.

„The fuel pump isn't working anymore! It must have been frozen shut!“

He drops into the copilot's seat, utterly exhausted. One look at the Falcon's shield to buffer the heat friction of entering airspace and it's clear that it is mulfunctioning as well.

He points to them.

„Maybe the landing will unfreeze them again?“

„We will BURN, and crash Ben!“

But she jumps up, and starts punching buttons, too fast to follow.

„What are you doing?“

„Rerooting the energy from the emergency lighting to the the defroster of the athmospheric shields!“

Her fingers fly over the controls, and he admires her, again, her skill, her capabilities when it comes to these kinds of things.

A moment later, the Falcon falls into darkness, but the shields stabilize.

Rey hurries back into the pilot's seat, not a moment too late because they are breaking atmosphere now, the pressure popping painfully in his ears.

Rey's hands dance across the controls, but the way her movements are shaky instead of steadfast tells him nothing good.

Then she turns to him, white as a sheet.

„I can't get the engine back up, the pumps are still frozen.“

They look at each other, the increasingly steep descent an uncomfortable pull in his stomach.

  
Their Bond is flooded to panic, Rey's panic.

He is starting to panic as well.

He reaches out, trying to buffer them through the Force, but what he has left is not enough to slow their fall. Shielding them against the cold, for so long, utterly depleted him and the Falcon is a _big_ ship. He remembers Skywalker, telling his pupils about his old master, how he lifted a plane out of a swamp with the wave of a hand.

It can be done.

The Force is drawing him to her, to her strength.

_Rey, you need to help me, you need to apply pressure against the ship to stop it from falling._

She is trying, he can feel it, but in her current state of panic, uneducated on how to find the strength within in the midst of chaos to apply lessons learned, her mind is too distracted to transfer what he taught her onto the Falcon.

They are falling, falling-

The other path...

He thinks how it rejected him, over and over. How he had to humble himself, how hard, and _slow_ it always was.

He needs more strength, more resources, and fast.

They are running out of options.

  
  


The dark lake calls, offering him might, and power.

_Through strength, I gain power.  
Through power, I gain victory._

  
  


_They are falling from the sky._

He needs a quick fix.

He needs to save Rey.

Whatever the costs.

  
  


_Rey, do you trust me?_

„What?“

She doesn't understand, adrenaline clouding her mind, and she stares at him, wide-eyed and scared, trying her best to buffer, failing.

_You have to trust me._

He decides in a splitsecond, takes one long pending moment to regret, to say goodbye to an impossible dream, to an impossible past part of himself.

Then, he sprints across the dark shores, and swan dives into the lake, sinking, sinking, sinking.

Opening himself fully to the dark side.

Dancing on a knife's edge Skywalker had called it.

He had perfected that technique.

Drawing form the dark side, never fully letting go. Staying in control.

Knowing there's power on the other side of giving in.

Power at the cost of loss of self.

Dancing, dancing, dancing.

Now there's no more holding back.

They are dying, and it's unacceptable.

He dives deep, deeper while the light on the surface grows smaller and smaller.

Up above, it is only a small presence now.

Diving deeper than ever before, headfirst into the darkness, past his usual meditations.

He pauses, looks back, one last time, at the flickering light at the surface, a life that could have been.

Then, resolutely, dives deeper, where no light is touching him anymore, past the point of no return.

Opening himself fully to the Dark Force.

And the lake answers, roars in triumph with a thousand voices, welcomes its lost son back into its arms.

It fills him with raw energy, to the brink, to overflowing.

_Through strength, I gain power._   
_Through power, I gain **victory** ._

  
  


He accepts it all gratefully, greedily.

The feeling is heady, overwhelming, _intoxicating._

More power than he ever wielded, more power than he ever thought possible.

The Darkside promised, and it delivered.

He breaks the surface again, and grabs Rey's hand that is bracing against the controls.

The darkness expands through him, a dark, bottomless well at his fingertips, and he lets them glide across her skin, in admiration, in regret, in apology.

And then he grips her, _hard_ , and starts to siphon her Force from her, into himself.

And pulls.

And **pulls.**

Rey is scared, and it hurts her. He knows how she feels her strength bleed out of her, the way she is staring at him, shocked to the bone.

The Force is screeching in dissonance, a hellish orchestra over the popping in his ears and he knows, _knows_ , that what he does is unnatural, not the way this is supposed to go.

But he is paying her no mind, paying it no mind, instead, focusing only on the task at hand, grabbing the controls in a whiteknuckled grip, the other clenching her hand painfully. She wants to pull it away, but he holds her in place, his grip unbreakable. They will survive, he will make sure of that.

Tears spring to her eyes...-

His power expands even further, mingling with hers and their fall is starting to slow, very slightly.

He is panting now, mouth open, sweating.

Drawing from Rey.

Her own delicious, bottomless well of power.

He sucks it all in, rips it from her, feels it coursing through his own veins.

A dark voice whispers over the roar _keep her... keep her around._

They could rule together, side by side.

Or, as it whispers, he could rule on his own, unmatched, uncontested. Rey at his feet.

_Having it all._

_The power, **and** the girl. She'd learn to obey, eventually._

The voices surge up inside, loud, multilayered, seductive.

With the last shreds of his sanity, he banishes the thought, throwing out the Force to stop the ship from crashing.

It's hard, even with their combined energy, and sweat beads his forehead, running down his temples, his hair sticking to his face and neck.

Rey whimpers in pain. She tried to resist his pull first, but now she's limp – either she understood, or she just gave up.

He pulls and pulls, ravenous, desperately.

As the descent of the Falcon slows down even further, the crackling in his ears dulling from sharp pain to an inconvenience, but it's not enough, not yet.

The ground is still racing closer, and the warning beeps of the cockpit mixes with the rush of the fall, the screech of the Force and the roar of the voices inside.

He tunes it all out, focuses everything he has to slow the ship even further down. Electric static is jumping across his fingertips now, across the hand that grips onto Rey's and she flinches violently, as if burned. But he holds on.

And then they crash-land, and his head smacks against the controls, knocking him out.

Finally, darkness, and blessed silence.

Some time later, he comes back to himself, blinking in the dark, Rey leaning over him, her voice frantic and so far away, words stumbling over words, making no sense together. Everything hurts, everything spins and spins and he feels like throwing up any minute.

He traces his tongue across his teeth, all hurt, but all still solid. His mouth is filled with blood.

But then the world steadies itself slowly and he opens his eyes fully, unfocused.

Rey flinches back, violently, scrabbling on all fours back from him.

Ahh... the eyes.

„B-Ben...?“

He closes them again.

Time for uncomfortable truths.

„Ben is dead.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back Kylo!!
> 
> Raise your hands if you missed our lost, dark spaceprince.
> 
> Wait, noone...?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an odd sense of deja-vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soundstrack for this chapter: Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish  
> (sorry for the most cliché song ever...)

The dry, resounding crack that indicates broken bones gave her a splitsecond to gather herself for the wave of pain to come.

She had to learn early in her life how to set broken bones on her own, how to power through the hurt, how to swallow down the nausea that usually follows.

She could do this.

But then the wave broke and the pain rolled up, igniting every nerve ending in liquid fire and she can't help it, a scream rips free from her throat, reverberating through the cockpit, the screeching metal and grinding rocks. The agony rips her out of her bracing position and she is jostled so violently into her seatbelt that something dislocates and she screams again until the Falcon finally, blessedly stops and black spots dance across her vision.

She's losing time there, a little, in the midst of sparking wires and shrill warning messages.

The next moment, she blinks rapidly, trying to clear the dizziness and the fog, to compartmentalize the agony in her hand and shoulder and look over to the copilots seat, where Ben is slumped over, unmoving.

_Ben._

Instead of bracing, he clutched the controls until the last minute in a desperate effort to buffer their fall, causing him to smack his head against it and bleeding all over the switches.

He is so still...-

She shouts his name, but her voice is low, or far away, or in her head...-

She fumbles awkwardly one handed with her seatbelt, batting down the rising panic, gritting her teeth through the pain, and then she's finally free, nearly doubling over, and rushing over to him.

The Falcon lies slightly unevenly on its side, and she has to pull herself towards him, her knees shaky, her muscles protesting, grabbing the armrest of his seat and checking his breathing.

He _is_ breathing, thank the Force.

Unbuckling him is an even bigger task while he is unresponsive, but then she finally manages and his massive body just slumps to the floor and all she can do is buffer his head in a last minute attempt to catch him.

She feels through the Bond, but his end is murky, his awareness dimmed to a black nothingness. When she peers into it, there is so much roiling Darkness lurking that she recoils, sick to her stomach.

What did he _do?_

She needs him to wake up, to make sense of what he just did, to _be_ there with her.

The Falcon is still groaning, a burning smell in the air and she looks around, as if there is anyone she could call for help, but turning her head just makes the room spit faster and she has to fight through the dizziness and pain to remain conscious.

She wants to shake him awake, but is scared to do so, in case he broke something.

She needs to check on him.

He needs to wake up...-

The cockpit spins and spins, and when she closes her eyes to center herself, the motion gets even more disconcerting. She opens her eyes again, bracing against the floor, breathing hard through her nose.

She can do this.

She's been through worse.

She pushes through the pain, gathering herself.

She summons the Force and...

Nothing.

Completely empty. Depleted.

Right. He had drained her.

It had hurt.

If she wasn't so damn useless, she could have helped him, but he had to do this on his own.

And now he needs to wake up.

His lip is split and the left side of his face is bruising already, and somewhere under his hairline, he must have a nasty split that is still bleeding so profusely that the cockpit starts to smell like old metal.

There's a roar in her ears and she's starting to realize the panicked noises, the anguished words are coming from her, begging him to wake up, begging him to open his eyes again. She's leaning over him, awkwardly, her broken wrist unusable, wanting to cradle him close, wanting him to just _wake up_ and assure her that everything will be fine again.

Finally, blessedly, his eyelids start to flutter and he groans, the loveliest sound she ever heard.

Their Bond vibrates, a ripple in their shared energy as his consciousness returns slowly.

She's so relieved that she almost collapses onto him, but then he opens his eyes, haltingly, confused, his browns drawn together, staring up at her.

A scream rises in her throat, and dies.

There is no air to get it out.

What looks up at her, through those alien, golden red eyes, is most definately NOT Ben.

**IT** is something ancient, and menacing.

Something incredibly powerful, and incredibly evil.

Her reaction is instinctual, she startles away from him violently, shaking all over.

The black spots are back in her vision when she aggravates her dislocated shoulder, but it hardly registers.

**IT** studies her, piercing through all her defenses effortlessly, and stalking her most private thoughts, her most intimate memories.

She is pinned down by its weight, the examination thorough, and methodical and over in a splitsecond.

The attack leaves her stunned, and breathless, and reeling.

She tries their Bond, but find it slammed shut. In fact, she is pushed out so violently that she has to gasp.

„Ben...?“

He opens his mouth and for a moment, all she can do is stare at his split lips, on the gruesome sight of blood on his crooked teeth, his words flying over her head.

Then her eyes snap up as she mentally repeats his sentence.

Ben is... dead?

„Ben... What... what did you _do??“_

She feels the Force gathering in the crammed cockpit, a dark storm cumulating much too sudden, much to powerful to hide. Her instincts tell her to seek shelter, to _run,_ but her shaking limbs refuse to obey. It only takes a moment, but the storm rolls over her, converging over him, and finally _into_ him, leaving without a trace.

Horror washes over her, threatens to draw her under.

He slowly gets up, the swelling of his face vanishing quickly, leaving only traces of his blood smeared across his face.

It was a mighty show of power, an effortless display of the Dark Side of the Force.

Intimidating... and _wrong._

She cowers against the opposite wall, staring in disbelief at him. The resolute clench in his jaw, the hard set of his eyes. Those eyes... burning fiery unnatural red-rimmed yellow.

Her heart clenches painfully, suspended for a long moment, and she gasps, her uninjured hand flies up, clutching at her chest. But then it beats again, and the room swims in a haze of tears.

„Rey... are you alright?“

The voice is... Ben, and not Ben. There is someting layered in there, something that doesn't belong there, something that is lurking, waiting, behind the worried tone. She shakes her head, pressing against the wall, breathing hard, trying to make any damn _sense_ of what is happening.

_This can't be happening, it can't, it just can't, no, Maker, no, this can't be real...-_

She feels it then, the mental intrusion, stealthy, but probing, a snake weaving silently through high grass. She slams up her own walls against the invasion, but he just brushes them aside as if they are nothing.

Again, the effortless display of raw power in the Force. It leaves her breathless and frightened.

„Get out of my head!“

He retreats then, as silent and secretive as he came.

„You're hurt badly. Can you heal yourself?“

„With _what?_ You DRAINED me.... it hurt!“

The golden fiery eyes look at her, impassively. Whatever reaction she expected, it was not... this.

„It had to be done. Would you rather have us explode into bits and pieces?“

She can't answer, she can't. If she opens her month now, the whimper stuck in her throat will break free and she will be reduced to a crying, useless, mess. She has to keep a hold of herself, to find out what happened, and more importantly, how to undo it, _quickly._

„... it's can't be undone.“

The way he just picked up her thought, the way he uttered those damning words, is just too much.

The whimper explodes free.

A desperate, gasping sob follows.

And another.

And another.

She needs to stop, but the hunger, the weakness, the trauma of the crash, of Ben's yellow eyes, it is all just too much.

He sits across from her, watching her fall apart, silent, unblinking.

Offering no words of comfort, in fact, no reaction at all.

It's unnerving, and... so unlike Ben.

So unlike... Kylo Ren.

Unlike the man with the short fuse, the man who never resists an impulse, all fiery temper and high strung emotions.

Sitting dispassionately, watching her, is unlike anything she knew from him.

When her eyes finally sting and refuse to part with any more fluids, when she hiccups through her sobs and breathes desperately to regain her composure, he continues matter of factly, as if nothing happened at all.

„We need to set your shoulder, or else it will get inflammed. It is going to to hurt.“

He moves closer than, and she can't help but scramble backwards, a reflex at the _thing_ lurking behind those fiery eyes, the _thing_ stalking her, until she hits the corner.

„Don't... don't touch me...-“

In response, he raises a hand, and she knows, she has a splitsecond before he puts her under.

„If you knock me out know, I will never, NEVER forgive you!“

It's either her scream, or her words that break through the impenetrable facade, but something flickers across his face, and he cocks his head, eyeing her intently.

There is something... uncertainty, and for a moment, she sees Ben, the man underneath it all, the man that held her in the darkness and opened his heart, superimposed onto the stranger's face.

Then he shrugs slightly, withdrawing his hand.

„Suit yourself. If you want to feel the pain, be my guest.“

It's as if his words open the floodgates to _hell,_ reminding her of her body's needs.

The shoulder, dislocated, and screaming in wrongness.

The broken hand, fingers bent in an unnatural angle, each of them a small bonfire on her nerve endings.

The bruises her seatbelt left on her body, crisscrossing over her torso.

The dull ache in her stomach, empty, _clawing._

The pressure in her head, the roaring in her ears.

The pain in her heart, every beat hurting more than the next...-

She is drowning in pain, an ocean of anguish and misery, layered waves and waves of it, catching up on what she set aside to be able to operate.

All the while, he is watching her, unblinkingly, eerily. She is breathing quicker, panic rising up in her, trying to push through the pain, but she is just becoming lightheaded, the black spots are back, dancing across her vision, and the last thing she sees before her vision turns black is the unmoving statue of a man, just watching her faint.

When she regains consciousness, it's with the oddest sense of deja-vu.

She is back in the medbay, on her bed.

A single emergency lantern is bathing the room in an disconcerting red glow.

Everything hurts.

Large fingers cradle her hand, wrapping it very, _very_ tenderly in gauze and splints.

She blinks, her mind catching up.

She tries to pull her hand away, but he grips her wrist, preventing the movement with ease.

„I'm done in a minute.“

„I hate you.“

She wants to hiss the words, to throw them at him with all the hate and pain and fury that is choking her inside, but all she manages is a broken whisper.

He just nods, and when he answers, his voice is soft, resigned, _Ben_.

„I know.“

He is bent over her, the hood of his stupid cowl hiding his face, his eyes effectively.

She has to swallow away a new wash of tears, once, twice...

„Don't cry Rey. What's done, is done. In the end, we survived.“

Again, his deep, soft voice. It'd be so easy to pretend it's really _him._

„Ben...-“

Her voice breaks. Why? Why does everything need to be so cruel? What's the point...?

„The point is your life. I won't let you die.“

He keeps his head bent, his eyes hidden, as if to keep up the illusion a little while longer.

She hates that she feels grateful for it.

Talking to him like this makes it easier to pretend.

„But at what cost...?“

He ties the last knot on her splintered hand, letting go.

„I have set your shoulder while you were out.“

Her eyes sting.

He hands her two pills, all the while turned away from her, _hiding. A_ glass of water follows, and she takes it as well, grateful for something to keep her busy.

He gets up, turns to leave.

„Try to meditate, and gather some strength to heal youself. I'll go outside and see if I can find something to eat.“

„Ben...“

She doesn't know what she wants to say next, because suddenly he turns back, and fixes her with his burning eyes, _hard._

„Forget _Ben_!“

His voice is strange, thick and vicious and almost... multilayered. As hellish as his appears, she still wants to protest, still wants to _believe...-_

And then he opens the Bond, very slightly.

Darkness rolls over her, immediately, and she is dragged under, lost, underwater, no light, nowhere, can't breathe, can't swim, can't see...-

Voices, everywhere around her, everywhere _inside_ of her, _inside her head,_ whispering, screaming, hissing at her.

_blackdeepevilmenancemaimdestroydeathkillkillKILL...-_

Just a second, and then the Bond is jerked shut again, and she is back in the bed, gasping for air desperately.

He fixes her with the same hard, piercing stare as in the cockpit.

But it's his dispassionate words that _cut._

„Forget Ben. He's gone, understand now? Gone. Forever.“

She is so cold inside, she can barely speak.

„So what do you want me to call you then?“

She meets his eyes, in challenge. It takes all her willpower not to look away.

The ancient _thing_ stares back.

„Kylo will do for now.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is almost unedited - and written in a rush, after a sad day and shitty news it had to get out.  
> Onwards and upwards, or, in case of this story, downwards?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey on a mission - part 1

He turns, to leave the room.

To leave her behind.

Their Bond stretches, and stretches, and it pulls against her insides and feels like it might snap any moment, strained and frail.

It was never that way before and she doesn't understand why, just that she can't let him go, can't be left behind, not now, not like this.

The thought of being stuck alone in the Falcon becomes unbearable all of a sudden.

„Wait!“

She hates how her voice is small and maybe a little timid, but he stops, without facing her. Maybe sparing her the sight, the reminder of the golden burn, of what he _did._

She thinks, fast.

„I can't... I can't find peace now. I don't know how to meditate like this.“

It's really not a lie, her head is buzzing, her heart beating too fast and the various injuries in her body are agony. What she longs for is the simple togetherness, the quiet reassurance she found in his arms, when they huddled together in the cold. When their survival was uncertain, but their future seemed finally bright, clear. Or at least, clearer.

„Can't you do it for me... please?“

He tenses, his hands balling into fists. She waits, trying to feel him out through their Bond, but he keeps it tightly closed again. It feels... unnatural, to be seperated again like this, a part of her numb and missing, like the vibrancy of her live, of her entire being, muted down to ashy greys.

Just now she realizes how much she relied on their Bond to read him, another crucial sense like sight or touch or sound to decipher the riddle that is the man in front of her.

Apparently, _he_ doesn't have the same issue. His voice is bittersweet, dangerously soft... cutting.

„You're lying to me Rey. You're lying again, trying to lure me into one of your little games. Don't you think I've long realized? How you tricked me into meddling on the other side, how you are scheming to bend me to your every wim?“

She jerks on her cod, her heart racing, the objection on the tip of her tongue.

But he's not wrong, not entirely, so her words don't come.

She did have an agenda, and still does.

Bring Ben _home_.

He finally turns, and fixes her with a hard glare. In the red dim lighting, he looks like a demon risen from hell itself to judge and find her lacking.

The harder he glares, the softer his voice rings out, tender, and seductive.

„I hate treachery.“

What she hears is _i hate this._

Or maybe _I hate you._

It's a shock to her system, another type of pain lancing through her.

Whatever they did before, however hard they fought, she always felt like she had the moral high ground. Especially now, especially in _this._ Turning the tables on her is... uncomfortable.

But she refuses to cower, even if every instinct yells at her to flee, or fight, or just _do something_ to escape this. She prods at their closed connection, to gain a sense of where his mind is, but comes up numb.

He is right, in a way, and maybe she needs to address this head on to fix this, to make him listen again, to see reason.

„You're right...I... I wanted you back on the light side again. With us. With _me._ I still want it. But B..-“ She catches herself, but her lips refuse to form the _other_ name, so she just plows on.

„You wanted it too, I felt it! You enjoyed it. You enjoyed teaching me.“

Her open admission must have shaken something lose, or at the very least, worked to disarm him for a moment, because he is quiet, pondering. She senses her opening, and pounces.

„You could heal me in a heartbeat. Do you really want me to suffer, do you want...-“

He cuts her off, his voice the hiss of a curling serpent, ready to strike.

„Manipulation is beneath you.“

Then his lips quirk, and again, this is not Ben, with his soft, shy smiles, not Kylo Ren, too serious, to intense for cutting ridicule.

„I could teach you how to draw from pain and anger to heal yourself, would you want that? Such a useful skill in battle when things get too... _heated_ to find peace.“

Golden eyes gleam at her and she shivers. She hears what he's not saying. It's frightening her.

„No.“

„Then better stick to your Jidai tricks... little girl.“

In this precise moment, there is nothing _Ben_ left in the man. He fixes her with a last lingering look so full of contempt, and then turns, and leaves.

Her heart beats and beats and beats in her hollow ribcage.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

White noise is buzzing in her ears, a constant, annoying, insistant backdrop to her racing mind.

She stares sightlessly at the open door.

One thought settles in the chaos, rings out true and terrifying.

_You're alone._

_You're on your own now._

Then another.

_This is not Ben._

_This is not like him._

Then another.

_You need to fix this._

_You need to fix him._

Her eyes burn, puffy and swollen, but she refuses to cry again. Crying doesn't help anyone.

She stares at the two pills in her hand, the ones he refused to take after his hangover. Who knew they'd come in handy so quick?

She downs them with the glass of water, and settles into a meditative pose.

He taught her how to do this, taught her the ancient Code, even if he was reluctant and wanted much rather to teach her something else, that much was clear to her. He had plans, badly hidden plans, but he still stuck to her wishes, ventured out to where he felt unwelcome, and unfit.

She opens herself to the Force, the words of the Jedi ringing through her mind, promising strength, resolve, balance.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

When Ben taught her the code, she didn't understand.  
She still doesn't understand.  
It's a strange type ot friction, like she is meant to grasp the concept, to accept it, like her doubts and her confusion make her less of a Jedi, less worthy.  
Is it mind over heart, to let your head rule instead of your fickle emotions? Be calm and rational? Be obedient, faithful, … unquestioning?

She can't can't imagine a life without emotions.  
Can't imagine following her path aloof, and detached.  
Can't imagine following her path alone... without the Bond, without him...-

He told her to focus on peace, that the concept would take a long time to grasp.  
She found peace in his arms, peace in her her heart that was quiet and content for once.  
Her place in the galaxy seemingly right, and clear.

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

How to draw from the truth of that? When she is so full of ignorance, lacking knowledge about the Force so severely?  
Ben taught her, and he proved to be a good teacher, patient when she was frustrated, with the earnest drive to see her succeed. There was a man underneath the mask, a shy, rejected boy that grew up hardened to the world after tragedy. That believed himself that he managed to eradicate everything soft and vulnerable inside, when in reality, it was all just burried alive.  
  
After learning that, learning him, how could they ever go back to the before?  
How could she ignore the man underneath the mask, disregard the plenthora of emotions in their Bond that he always tried to hide from her?

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

Never has she felt more confused, more uncertain.  
There is no passion...  
Is that a warning? A directive? An unbreakable rule she already broke and now, burdened with the intimate knowledge, preventing her from following the lightside path to its logical conclusion, of becoming one of them?

But there is a Before and an After now.

Before, when she knew nothing really about passion.  
The concept theoretical and not applicable to her, but to other people. Normal people.  
Her goal was clear, study to become a Jedi, calm, composed, wise.  
Faithful to the concept, eager to learn their rules and stick to them.  
Give your life to the course.  
Eschew the distractions.

Be one with the Force.

But then... after...

The Force itself seemed to have pushed her in his arms, pushed them a step too far for her comfort, a sudden clash of teeth and tongue and fingers to a point she'd never be able to return from.

She knows now.  
She knows passion.  
She knows a different kind of hunger.  
The burn inside her that he awakened. The lust, for him, that dwarfed everything, her purpose, her convictions...  
His hands, on her body.  
His mouth, on her skin.  
The way he moved, against her, with her.  
The way he made her feel things, long for him, him, specifically.  
The way he held her, afterwards, so carefully.  
The way she suddenly wants more of this, more of him, wants to run her hands over his naked body, learn what makes him feel good, what makes him groan and wild and lose control.  
Wants him to do more with her, more to her.

The memory of them leaves her breathless, almost rips her out of her meditation.

Awareness stirs on the other side of the Bond, a dark presence lurking, attracked by her line of thought, and she pushes the images away quickly, before their Bond could connect them fully again.

She wouldn't trust herself with this now.

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

Another thing she doesn't believe in anymore.  
Her mind is chaos, her heart is conflict. She never had other people in her life that she could care for, but ever since Finn crashed into her existance, she does.  
Friends.  
People to worry about, people to rely on.  
People to fight with, for a course, for a greater pupose.  
People to fight, and overcome.  
People like Kylo Ren.

So how come she started to care for him as well? Was it when she peeked under his mask? When he became the comfort she was seeking from Luke and found in his dark eyes instead? Was it when she realized he cared for her, in his own strange and twisted way?

She misses the clear lines, good and evil, friend and foe.  
She misses the simplicity of knowing exactly what to do, what to fight for, whom to fight.

… She misses Ben...

She misses the awkward moments when she pokes lighthearted fun at him, and he always looks so puzzled, so confused, so serious. Like he can't place her banter, almost scared to accept that someone could be actually close enough to laugh with him again.  
She missed the wealth of emotion hidden underneath selfdoubt and years of anger and pain.

There is harmony between them, between Ben and her. A unity, in their Bond, in the Force, a pull towards another person that she can't name, can't define, only knows that it makes her feel complete.

She gathers the thought close, neglecting the chaos, neglecting the confusion, and drawing from strength from their connection.

_There is no death, there is the Force._

They could have died, but he made sure they didn't.  
Rationally, she knows that his plunge into darkness was not for his benefit, not a greedy grab for more power, more influence. She had sensed the panic in their Bond, the desperation, and the hopelessness when he realized he alone would not be able to catch the drop, the freefall from the sky.  
Had she'd been any stronger, or any more skilled or talented, she could have helped him, could have applied what he tried to teach her hours before, but she proved to be useless and impatient and so he resorted to deperate measures.

She knows, rationally, that she is to blame for this, at least partially, but still, she can't help but feel … _betrayed_ in a strange way, as if he let go of her willingly and left her behind, went where she can't follow.

Her eyes snap open, startled out of her meditation at the thought.

He went where she can't follow.

She can't... or she _won't...?_

Her heart beats, but her mind is sharp.

Doesn't she owe it to him, to take a step towards him, like he did for her?  
To search for him, to find him and bring him back where ever he is lost right now?

She feels through their Bond until she reaches his end, the murky darkness that hides what's behind it. And there is something behind, that much is clear.

She swallows her fear, and retreats. She knows now what she has to do, she just has to gather the strength to do it.

Testing her reserves, applying a little of them to where she hurts the most, her hand, but saving the rest. She'll need all the strength she can get.

Rushing down the winding hallway and onto the slightly bent opening hatch, she is out of the Falcon in a heartbeat, her lungs expanding gratefully to breathe fresh real air for the first time in forever.

They crashlanded on slightly uneven terrain, the vegetation around them not dense enough to call forest, but green enough for her to take a moment to appreciate the sight.  
It must have rained recently, the soil still wet, the lush smell of green living things making her smile despite everything. She closes her eyes, and takes it all in, the rustling of the leaves, the sunlight warming her skin, the Force a steady pulse through all of the lifeforms around her.

One energy signature is burning brighter, hotter than all others and she turns towards it, starting in his direction.

They meet not far from the Falcon, the sun setting slowly in his back, giving his hair a halo like glow, his features hard to make out against the light. He took off the cowl, collected something in it.

She blinks against the sun in her eyes, the image serene, and peaceful, beautiful in a strange way.

Only when he's close enough that she stands in his shadow, she can see his face. He looks down at her, intently, not unkind, pulling a strange fruit from his makeshift bundle, offering it to her silently.

She grabs it, and bites into it without hesitation, hunger dictating hurry, and the strange fruit explodes in her mouth with tart sweetness, making her moan involuntarily. Its juices run down her chin, but she doesn't care.

It's _delicious._

She devours the entire thing, even the tough core and its little seeds and her stomach relaxes in appreciation.

Their eyes meet and she licks her lips, grabbing the next shiny red fruit he offers her, but before she bites into it, she has to ask.  
„Where did you find this... this is amazing. What is this fruit?“

She takes another bite, the peel crunchy and so satisfying, and it's heaven.

Golden eyes gleam, and there is more in them than simple joy for food. 

He smiles at her, soft, and tentative.

„It's called an apple.“

    

    

    

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soundtrack for this one: Seven Devils, Florance + the Machine


End file.
